Light And Dark
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: Future fic set after the final AU confrontation with the yelloweyeddemon, not canon just my warped mind. Dean and Sam have a new contact, an archangel who influences Dean more than either of the brothers thought possible. Complete
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I was home with my sick kiddo today and had this idea. Future fic set after the final confrontation with the yellow-eyed-demon (which they won – duh). Dean and Sam have a new contact, who gets further under Dean's skin than anyone thought possible. Oh – and I love feedback!

**Light and Dark**

Dean nursed his beer, shifting his gaze occasionally from the door to his baby brother. This was all just so screwed up, he did not even know where it started. Well, with Sammy's birth, obviously, but you know, other than THAT. Maybe it was when Sam thought there was an avenging angel, which Dean thought was the dumbest thing his brother had ever come up with. And that included ditching the family for Stanford. But Sammy had harped on that warrior angel thing for a while, until he found out it was just another vengeful spirit but with a conscience. Actually a refreshing change from the norm.

Dean picked at the soggy beer label, one eye still on the door. He chanced a glance at Sam's face. The kid looked like he was waiting for the freakin' Pope to show up. Or one better. There was this light in Sam's face that pissed Dean off no end. Nobody should be able to have a hold on his little brother like that, he didn't care who it was. Not even him. He was half tempted to turn the now empty beer bottle over Sammy's thick skull and haul his sorry butt out of there when the door opened.

He sighed when he saw who walked through. It was a large man with bulging muscles, dark, wild wind-swept hair, and fiery blue eyes. Dean felt his brother sit up straighter, his frame tense, when the dude walked in. Dean considered telling Sam he ought to go get a room, but he knew that would only earn him a trip through the plate glass window so he kept his mouth shut.

The big man walked straight over to them without bothering to look at anyone else in the room, like he knew exactly where they were and why. Which, of course, he did. He slid into the booth opposite them.

"Hey, Mike," Dean said casually, as if they met like this everyday. "Beer?"

Mike gave him a snarl. "It's Michael."

"Dude, that didn't stop me from calling him Sammy. What makes you think it'll work with you?" Dean leaned forward, daring Mike to do something about it. He felt Sam's hand pulling him back.

"Dean's just stubborn that way, Michael," Sam said and actually sounded like he was friggin' apologizing. Dean rolled his eyes in a way Mike was sure to notice, not that the dude ever missed a damn thing.

"But you like it," Mike told Sam, pointedly ignoring Dean. Usually that served to piss Dean off more, but not this time. This conversation he had some interest in.

"Only from Dean," Sam replied, his face hardening. The message was clear – Mike was not being invited to call him by that nickname. Dean felt like sniggering at the brief look of confusion on Mike's face. Served the bastard right, horning in on his only family like this.

Mike waved a waitress over to order a cold lemonade. Dean did snigger then, ordering two more beers for him and Sam. Each. He figured he would need at least that just to get through the next ten minutes. The waitress gave him a funny look, but Mike smiled and nodded at her and she seemed to forget any reservations she might have had. Now that was an ability Dean might like to have. Of course, he had his own homemade version which involved a lot of smiling and flirting, but that took a little time and a lot of skill. Mike could do it with a single smile or frown, depending on his mood. And did he have some moods!

"So what do you have for us?" Sam asked eagerly. Apparently his brief ire at Mike was forgotten now. Dean looked for the waitress. Where was his damn beer?

"It's coming," Mike told him. "Just be patient."

"Don't. Do. That." Dean glared. It was taking every last fiber of his being not to leap across the table and pound on this asshole. Not that it would do anything but make him feel just a teensy bit better. The whole being able to read his mind thing was not only annoying, it was downright rude. Didn't they have rules about that?

"Maybe you shouldn't bring him next time," Mike jerked his head at Dean. Dean felt hot anger bubbling as the waitress set two beers down in front of him.

"You say that like I have a choice," the sarcasm dripped from Sam's voice. That was it. Really it. Dean slammed one of the beers back before speaking.

"Fine," he growled, standing up. "Handle it, then." He stormed out the front door. He did not need this shit. Really. He and Sam had been just fine before Mike showed up. Okay, so they had that yellow-eyed-demon bastard after them back then, but he could honestly say he preferred then to now. At least there had been no one trying to come between him and Sam. Well, except for the whole "kill me if I go darkside" crap Sam was always spewing, like that would ever happen. And, yeah, the occasional possession of Sam trying to convince Dean to kill him. But, you know, other than that…

"Dean!" It sounded like Sam, but Sam was undoubtedly back in the bar sucking up to oh-so-glorious Mike. The bastard.

"Damn it, Dean! Stop!" He heard uneven footsteps running toward him from behind. Dean did not stop because he thought it was Sam, he stopped to make sure. A lifetime of military training taught him not to take anything for granted, especially the sound of someone, or something, running up on you from behind. When he turned around, Sam slowed to a more comfortable walk, which showed his limp less, and a frown of disapproval creased that boyish face. Dean turned away and continued walking. The motel was not far and his car was in the parking lot. What he really needed right now was a drive. A nice, long drive to freakin' nowhere.

"Dean," Sam breathed beside him, a broad hand on his shoulder.

"What?" Dean snapped, shrugging off his brother's touch. What the hell happened to precious Mike anyway?

"He's waiting for us."

Dean stopped and turned on baby brother. "You know I hate that," he snapped.

Sam frowned at him. "I thought you just hated it from Mike."

"Mike?" Dean asked. "What happened to Michael?"

Sam's frown turned into a sneaky grin. "Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" Sam grabbed him by the arm to lead him back toward the bar.

"Since when does wonderful Mike not know something?" Dean demanded, struggling in Sam's unnatural grip.

Sam paused, sharing a look with Dean the way they used to. "Well, I can kinda block him. I'm still playing with it, you know, figuring out how it works."

Dean felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "No shit? And you're using it on Mike?" Could Sam really find the bastard as annoying as Dean did?

"Of course I do!" Sam looked shocked. He blushed, looking away. "Sorry, Dean."

"It's okay," Dean figured he was probably openly smirking now. "Sammy."

Sam grinned at him. It happened just that fast. Once again it was just the two of them against the world. Then Dean took a step back. "I can't go back in there," he said, meeting Sam's eyes, "he'll know everything we just talked about."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Let's go see." Sam steered him back into the bar. Mike was still waiting in the far booth. Sam made sure Dean sat next to the wall this time so he could not bolt. Dean shoved himself in the far corner, arms crossed, obviously here against his will.

Mike sighed deeply. "You could have just filled him in later."

"I told you, we're a team," Sam argued. "Now, do you have a case for us or not?"

One of Mike's eyebrows quirked up as he stared at Dean. Dean stared back, issuing a mental string of obscenities until Sam nudged his foot. Then Dean went with a mental blank wall while Mike talked about some vengeful spirit in Seattle. Well, at least they had never been to Seattle before.

"…but the most disturbing part is that the body was cremated. We're not sure what is keeping it Earth-bound," Mike finished. Dean hated to admit it, but the guy had a great voice. The kind you'd follow over a cliff or onto a bloody beach with a rifle clutched in your hand. It reminded him of Dad, which pissed him off. Oh hell, what didn't piss him off these days?

"We'll find it," Dean rumbled, the first time he bothered to speak since Sam dragged him back. Mike looked a little surprised. Maybe Sam was blocking both of their thoughts from the damned busybody.

Mike looked deep into Dean's eyes. Dean guessed he was supposed to look away by Mike's startled reaction. He stared back, locked in a battle of wills. He heard Sam sigh beside him, but he knew he could not lose. Not now that he knew Sammy was on his side. His eyeballs were drying and he could feel the strain, but Dean was not backing down. He reached deep into the reserve that kept him going through werewolf attacks and Sammy-possessions. When his hands started to shake he stood up, never breaking eye contact. Mike stood up too, with a deep frown. Dean wondered idly how many times anyone else had done this over the years. Dean leaned on the table for support as the shaking made its way down to his legs. He grimaced when he realized Mike was probably cheating, and even if being a busybody wasn't against the rules cheating definitely was. And that made him mad. The shaking in his arms and legs subsided as he allowed his righteous anger to take over. The only thing that kept him from reaching across the table and throttling Mike was Sam's calming hand on his arm.

Then Mike looked away. Dean continued to glare for a moment because he did not realize right away what happened. But Sammy was pulling him out of the booth, saying something to Mike.

"…and maybe you should remember that next time." It was definitely Sam's voice and it looked directed at Mike, but Dean was not sure. The room was unsteady, the floors rocking like a ship at sea. He leaned into Sam as they left, trusting his baby brother to get him the hell out of there.

"What happened?" he blurted as soon as he thought they were clear.

"Hang on," Sam turned them around to watch the bar. There was a bright flash of light over the low building, though the skies were clear and light blue. Sam grinned at him in a way that had not happened since their last prank war. "You totally backed him down, Dean. That was awesome!"

"I…I did?" Dean reached up a hand to rub at his forehead, where a dull throb was threatening. "I think I need to lie down."

"Oh, sure, Dean. Sorry." Sam led him back to the room. By the time Dean crawled gratefully onto the bed, the dull throb had turned into a whole work crew with jackhammers. And they were listening to god-damned rap music, Dean realized as he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Dean? Dean?"

Sam's persistent voice dredged him from the bliss of dreamless land. Dean groaned at the interruption. It had been years since he had any sleep not punctuated by the various horrors which filled his life. "What the hell, Sammy?"

He felt the bed next to him sink with Sam's weight. "Dude, you scared the hell out of me. Dean? Open your eyes."

I don't wanna.

"Do it anyway," Sam demanded.

Goddamned psychics. Dean peeled his eyes open. Sam's worried face swam into focus. "What scared you?" Dean demanded, trying to sit up, wondering if something broke into the room.

"Easy, bro, easy," Sam chastised, helping him up.

"Dude, I feel as weak as a kitten. What the hell?" Dean struggled to sit against the headboard with Sam's help.

"Probably because you've been asleep for three days!" Sam huffed.

"Huh?" Dean looked around. They were still in the same cheesy motel room. The Elvis wallpaper still made him chuckle. "Three days?" Dean noticed his hand shook as he ran it over his head. "Dude, why aren't I dead or in the hospital?"

Sam shrugged, still perched on the side of Dean's bed. He was avoiding eye contact. "Sammy?"

Sam sighed. "I was going to take you to the hospital, but Mike showed up."

Dean frowned. This did not sound good. "And?"

Sam shrugged again, looking at the far wall. "He said you'd wake up and be fine."

"And you believed him," Dean scoffed.

Now Sam did look at him. "Mike may be a pain in the ass, Dean, but he's never…lied to…us." Sam's eyes widened and his jaw went slack.

Dean tried to look behind him at whatever held his brother's attention, but all he could see was more Elvis wallpaper. "What? What is it? Something getting in?"

Sam shook his head slowly. His eyes were glued to something. Dean pushed himself up, still trying to see the object of Sam's attention. What the hell?

Sam shook himself. "Sorry. I was just, uh, a little surprised. That's all."

"About what?" Dean sat upright. Maybe he just needed the long nap, he was feeling better. Not that he really felt that bad before, that is, he had certainly felt worse. But what the hell was up with Sammy? Speaking of which… "Sammy?"

"Uh, well, I'm not sure." Sam's head was cocked to the side and he was looking at him like he'd grown an extra head or turned purple or something.

"You're not that far off," Sam admitted.

"What?" Dean jumped off the bed, energy and strength surging through his frame. He was definitely feeling good. Real good. Too good? He paused before heading into the bathroom, looking back at Sam. "Is it bad?"

Sam shook his head, shrugging. He appeared lost and bewildered, something Dean often tried to do to him but rarely succeeded. With closed eyes, Dean placed himself in the bathroom in front of the mirror. A deep breath and he held it. How bad was it?

He cracked his eyes open slowly. So far, so good. Still the one head. Some serious bedhair, but that was to be expected after sleeping for a couple of days. Face? Pretty normal, maybe a little pale, but not gonna-die-any-time-now pale, just hasn't-eaten-in-a-while pale. That was fine. Ears? Just two – good. One mouth, one nose, two eyes…what the hell?

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," Sam said gently from behind him. Dean started at the sound, he had nearly forgotten Sam was still there. "Where would I go?" Sam asked to the unspoken statement.

Dean shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from the image in front of him. "And I thought the telepathy thing was freaky," he muttered.

"Maybe no one will notice?" Sam suggested weakly.

Dean snorted. How the hell could anyone miss green eyes that glowed? Not glowing as in pregnant women have a glow, or wasn't the bride glowing. Glowing as in Dean can probably see in the fucking dark now glowing! Really – what the freaking hell??

"I can call Mike," Sam offered. Boy, he must have been desperate to suggest that, knowing how Dean felt about that bastard. It was an ever greater testament to how desperate Dean was to nod in agreement. Dean tore his eyes from the freaky image in the mirror, the image that was his and yet not him, to watch Sam. Sam closed his eyes to concentrate and a warm glow engulfed him. Dean watched in amazement. He had watched Sam call Mike before, but he had never seen this glow. It was like a tiny sun setting behind Sam, lighting him. It was pretty cool, he had to admit, even if it freaked him out just a little bit.

There was a flash of white light and a knock at the door. "I'll get it," Sam said, already opening it. Dean could feel the moment Mike stepped over the threshold. He kept his gaze down until Sam closed the door, then lifted it to lock with Mike's.

"Oh. So you woke up." Mike ignored the fact Dean was glaring at him to sit on the bed. Dean kept it up, noticing that Mike was looking everywhere but at him.

"You want to explain this?" Dean demanded.

"Not really," Mike replied. "Is that Elvis on the wallpaper? I'm a big fan, you know. He'll be tickled to death when I tell him about this."

"Mike…" Dean could not keep the growl out of his voice.

"Mike, what the hell is wrong with Dean's eyes?" Sam demanded. Mike did look directly at Sam.

"What did you call me?" he asked, his voice lowering in timbre and pitch.

"What's wrong with Dean?" Sam repeated, his own anger coming through in his voice. Or perhaps Dean's anger was mixed in there too? With the telepathy had come the occasional empathy, but so far just between them. Probably because they spent so much time together. Regardless of the reason, it was pretty much a given any more that when Dean was angry, really angry, so was Sam.

Mike glanced away with a shrug. "He won." They waited. There had to be more to it than that. Mike sighed, finally chancing a glance at Dean. His eyes darted away almost instantly. "You can't face down an angel without certain…repercussions."

"And if you face down an archangel?" Sam asked and his voice had that 'I think I found the key to this' tone. Dean ground his teeth.

Mike shrugged noncommittally. "Bigger repercussions."

"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed, glaring at Mike. He took a step closer. The usual feeling of being in over his head when he got within a few feet of Mike was gone. "What does this mean, you bastard?"

A slow smile played across Mike's face. "I can see why demons talk about you two, now. They're scared of you, you know."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, but by unspoken agreement said nothing. Occasionally there were benefits to the telepathy thing. Mike looked at Sam. Whether searching for an ally or just someone who had not stared him down, Dean could only guess, and he guessed both.

"Despite the fact we have different agendas, and different bosses, we aren't all that different," Mike sighed, running both hands through his wild hair. "Exorcisms obviously don't work on us, but there are ways to banish angels too. That's usually where the big, bad demons come from, if they survive."

"And that's your job these days, right?" Dean asked. "So how many of your flubs have we had to deal with now?"

Mike did look at him now, but it was short-lived. He looked away with a shudder, which pleased Dean no end. "A few," he admitted softly. "It's what brought you to our attention."

Dean looked triumphantly at Sammy, blasting his thoughts on that. Something along those lines had been his theory. He knew Sam heard them but his younger brother gave no sign of it, which made Dean wonder why he was so damned sure Sam heard him. Sammy had preferred to think they were contacted because he had been 'chosen' in that stupid war for the human soul. Sam still walked with a severe limp and Dean felt each time the weather was going to change in his spine. The doctors had said he was lucky not to be paralyzed after an injury like that.

"And what are the repercussions?" Sam asked, again trying to get a straight answer. Dean could nearly visualize the logic his brother used, how organized the kid's mind was. It was really rather impressive. Dean figured he operated more on instinct than anything. Sure he had flashes of insight which confounded his brother, especially when he was right, but the book-smart thing was definitely Sam's gig.

Dean returned his attention to Mike. What, was the big, bad-ass archangel squirming now? As he glared, he sensed how Mike's mind worked. It was a huge conglomeration of information, emotions, and memory reaching back millennia. It made Dean dizzy to contemplate, forcing him to look away. Dean shook off the dizziness to glare at Mike again. This asshole was going to tell them what they wanted – correction: needed – to know.

"I'm not really sure," Mike said with a dark chuckle. "It's never happened before."

"Oh, shit." He needed to sit down. Now. Dean felt his knees turn to jelly as he sank slowly to the floor. It was going to be hell getting up with his back, he knew.

"You know, your father warned me about you, Dean. But I wouldn't listen. I figured it was just…parental pride." Another dark chuckle. "Won't make that mistake again."

"Our father?" Sam stood next to Dean, bumping Dean's shoulder with a knobby knee. "What do you mean he warned you about Dean?"

Mike shook his head. "I've already said too much," he breathed.

"What about Dad?" Dean demanded, leveling his new freaky glowing eyes on Mike. At least they weren't yellow. He would have had to go jump off a skyscraper or something if that had happened.

Mike chanced a glance at him, but seemed repelled by Dean's eyes so he focused on the top of Dean's head instead. "He traded his life for yours, Dean. Not his soul."

He felt Sam's hand grip his shoulder. Tight. Understanding passed between them like a flash of lightening connecting Sam's hand and his shoulder. It did not hurt, but it was startlingly clear. "So…Dad is?" Sam let the question hang.

"Fine. Last time I spoke with him he was trying to set up some sort of concert. Elvis was hiding from him."

Dean felt his anger soften. "Can't hide from Dad," he heard himself whisper.

Mike tried to look at him again, and this time could hold his gaze. "Nope. Elvis was hopelessly outmatched."

Dean felt his face crack in a smile, one of the few genuine ones he'd had in years. "I'll bet."

"So, he got his concert?" Sam asked, still holding onto Dean's shoulder like it was a lifeline or something. Dean imagined Sam's sasquatch sized body bent over nearly double to reach his shoulder. Or were his brother's arms just that long? He tried to put the image of Sam with stretchy arms out of his mind. It was just stupid, not to mention embarrassing if Sam picked up on it.

"I don't think the King was too pleased about having to perform Back in Black," Mike said with a grin.

Sam laughed out loud. "Yeah, I'll bet. So does he…I mean, has he ever…?"

Dean heard the struggle in Sam's voice and felt it somehow, but he would have known what it was about anyway. "Sam wants to know if Dad ever mentioned him." Dean glanced up at his brother, decided to go for full disclosure. "Ever forgave him."

Sam's eyes closed at that. Dean tried to tell if he was waiting or praying, then decided it was none of his business. He turned back to Mike. "Well?"

"He loves both of you. I was unaware there was anything to forgive." Mike's eyes darted between both of them, his confusion evident.

"See, Sammy? Told ya." Dean said softly. Sam let out a deep breath, nodding slowly. Apparently he needed to hear it from someone who was not the over protective big brother.

Sam's hand squeezed his shoulder again. Dean diverted his gaze away from Sam's face, knowing the tears that would be forming there. "So, we still have a job in Seattle, or did you give it to someone else while I," Dean sneered, "napped?"

"It's yours, if you still want it."

He felt Sam turn away, wipe the tears from his eyes and face, but Sammy never did let go of his shoulder. When he was ready to stand, Dean reached back. The hand on his shoulder released and gripped his forearm, hauling him to his feet without a word. The normal ache in his back was less, but still there.

"We'll take it," Dean answered for both of them.

Sam cleared his throat. "What do we do about," he motioned to Dean's face.

"Well, until he learns to control it, I'd suggest sunglasses. Dark ones." Mike grinned. His own eyes flared bright, glowing blue for a moment, then settled back to human norm. "Practice," Mike said to Dean's unthought and unasked question of how to do that.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "Practice," they mouthed in unison.

* * *

Dean waited in the driver's seat for Sam. He was antsy to get on the road, but they needed a few provisions first. Sam finally appeared with a case of bottled waters and a paper sack balanced on top. He set his purchases in the back seat before taking his place in the passenger seat.

"Here," Sam pulled a smaller plastic bag out of his pocket, "I think these are even darker."

Dean accepted the bag. He took out a pair of sunglasses and glanced around. "Anybody watching?" he whispered.

Sam swept the parking lot with his gaze. "I don't think so. Try them."

Dean could not help glancing in the rearview mirror as he took his old sunglasses off. The green glow was still there, brighter than ever. He slipped the new pair on. In the sunlight, you could not see the glow through them. Dean let out a sigh of relief as he faced Sam. "Better?"

Sam nodded. "Better. But I'd better drive at night for a while."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I guess pretending to be a blind driver wouldn't win any points with the cops, huh?"

"Cute," Sam sneered. "Real funny, Dean."

"How far to Seattle, dude?" Dean asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"About two thousand miles," Sam replied, "as the crow flies."

"Dude, we are so not flying," Dean snarled.

"Well, you know, Dean, we still don't know what all you're capable of. Maybe you could." Sam smirked as he looked staunchly out the front windshield.

A gust of air blew through the open passenger window, carrying a ball of leaves which exploded in Sam's face. Dean tried to keep a straight face, but Sam's expression was just priceless!

"Oh?" Sam picked a dry, brown leaf out of his mouth. "Going to be like that, is it? Fine." He brushed leaves out of his hair. "You're on."

Sam reached over, touched Dean's shoulder. A white, hot electric shock ran through Dean's arm. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted, fighting to regain control of the car. He glared at Sam, eyes glowing so bright Sam could see the green even through the super dark sunglasses. "Damn it, Sammy! What are you trying to do, get us killed?"

Sam grinned. He lifted one finger in the air and drew a mark on an imaginary board. Oh yeah, it was on!


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I intended this to be a one-shot and now I've been arm-twisted into a multi-chapter fic. What is the world coming to? (Oh, no editors or proof readers or anything on this one. You have only me to blame!) The weirdness continues…

**Chapter 2**

There was nothing along this state highway except trees, trees and more trees. If there had been a speedtrap, at least that would have been something. Dean could tell Sam was tired, his brother had been driving for nearly six hours.

"Dude, pull over. We'll switch," Dean told him.

"Dean, we can't, it's dark out. We can't risk you being pulled over. Next motel and I'll stop, okay?" Sam replied, his strained eyes glued to the road.

"No, Sam," Dean tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, which had been really difficult lately, "you're too tired. I'm fine. Pull over."

"But what about your eyes?" Sam demanded, chancing a glance over. Dean still wore the dark sunglasses, even though it was well after dark.

"I just won't get stopped, okay? Right now I'm more worried about you crashing my baby." He waited for Sam's reaction.

A loud Sammy huff filled the car. "Fine." He felt the car slow and pull off the road.

Dean switched places with his brother, tossing the dark sunglasses on the dash. He felt Sam's glare and ignored it. "There's no one around to see, Sam," he argued, though his brother said nothing out loud.

As he drove, Dean noticed that driving at night was easier than it normally was. A glance in the rearview mirror told him his eyes were probably glowing brighter than they had been during the day. Well, that could also be chalked up to day versus night, but he didn't think so. Now that presented an interesting question: Could Dean's freaky glowing eyes see in the dark?

A quick glance told him that Sam was still awake. No sense in freaking his brother out by turning out the headlights in the middle of the night just to check out a stupid theory. Instead, Dean concentrated on whether he could make the night seem brighter or darker. When the woods flashing by his window were so dark they looked like a solid black streak beside the road, he looked in the rearview mirror again. His eyes were almost normal. Dean chewed his lower lip, trying to decide if he wanted to try it the other way.

He heard steady breathing from the passenger seat. Without looking, he knew Sam was asleep. With a wicked grin Dean tried to see how bright he could make things look. Soon the woods had the luster of daylight surrounding them and Dean could see each individual tree. The reflection of his eyes glowed brightly, casting a green glow on his face. Out of curiosity, he wanted to know if he could see even better than that. The trees glowed eerily from the roadside, each one backlit by an odd luminescence. Without looking in the mirror he knew his eyes were glowing really bright now, the interior of the car had a green glow.

Curiosity satisfied, he decided to tone it down again. He willed the trees to look dark, as dark as he could. When they were a black blur, only distinguishable from the night sky by lack of stars, he checked out his eyes again. They were completely normal, right down to the little gold flecks buried around the edges of his irises. He breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was right, Mike might be an ass but he never lied to them. Looking at his reflection, Dean wondered why Mike never…

The Impala shuddered violently, its nose dipped down and the car rocked from side to side. As he fought the wheel the world around lit brighter than daylight, showing Dean that he was off road.

"Son of a bitch!" He shouted. So distracted by playing with his damn glowing eyes, Dean drove right off the road! He wrestled the big car under control, dodging a highway marker as he made it back onto blacktop.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam's voice floated over to him after they were safely back on the highway.

"What?" he snapped, his heart still racing. How could he do that to his baby?

"You, uh, fall asleep?"

Dean felt like glaring at his little brother, but he chose to watch the road instead. Which is what he should have been doing five minutes ago! "No."

"So what happened?" Sam started to sound irritated. Perfect. Two irritated Winchesters in the same car. Yeah, that's always a good thing.

"I drove off the road," he replied, more than a little surprised to hear the confession himself. He had intended not to reply, to maintain perfect silence until Sam gave up on it. Okay, that tactic didn't always work, but it worked often enough to try.

"On purpose?" Sam was astounded. Well, Dean would have been too if that were true.

"No," he snapped.

"So what happened?" Sam demanded.

The perfect lie about a wild animal darting out in front of the car popped into his head. "Well, see, there was this…" his voice died out. Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "I saw an…I wasn't paying attention."

"Excuse me?" Sam turned in the seat to face him. "Since when don't you pay attention when you're driving?"

He tried to shrug, but his shoulders were not exactly participating either. What the hell was happening here?

"Dean? You going to answer me?"

He shook his head. At least that still worked!

"What were you paying attention to Dean? I don't see any scantily clad women beside the road."

Dean smirked. The retort 'if you had just been awake a few minutes ago' was on his lips, but what came out was, "I was playing with my eyes." He winced. Shit.

Sam glared at him in the darkened car. "You what?"

"Don't worry about it, Sam. Everything's fine." Dean stared straight ahead, hoping Sam would drop it, knowing he wouldn't.

"Dean?" His brother's head leaned to one side, studying him like a rat in a maze. "Do you remember that girl Melinda?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, trying to ward off an oncoming headache. Maybe there was a town with a motel around the next bend. "Who? Dude, you know I don't remember names."

"The girl who came on to me at that pool hall, about three weeks ago? Brunette?" Sam looked over at him.

"Oh, yeah, right. I think so." It was really dark out here. Dean kept his eyes straight ahead as he willed it to become lighter and hoped his brother did not notice his eyes glowing brighter. Now he could read the next exit sign. It looked promising for a motel.

"Did you set me up?" Sam asked. Dean could feel his little brother leaning closer, as though proximity could demand an answer.

"What makes you ask that?" Dean answered, pushing down on the accelerator. That exit should be coming up really soon.

"Yes or no, Dean. It's a simple question." Sam insisted.

Like a terrier with a freaking chewtoy, he thought. "What kind of question is that, dude? Really. Do you think I'd do something like that?"

"I know you would," Sam said pointedly. "The question is whether or not you did. Yes or no, Dean."

He sighed. "Sam…"

"Stop avoiding the question," Sam insisted. "Yes or No?"

"NnnnnnnYes." Who said that?

A barking laugh came from his right. Sam's hands drummed on the dash. "Dude, you can't lie!"

"That's ridiculous. Everyone can lie!" He insisted, speeding toward the exit. If they could just get to a motel room, everything should look better in the morning.

"Oh yeah?" He heard the challenge in Sam's voice. This was not going to be good, he could feel it. "Then tell me how you were going to put a bullet in me if I went darkside."

"It wasn't going to happen, Sam," Dean insisted.

"We didn't know that," Sam went on, "and you promised me and Dad. Now tell me how you were really going to do it if it came to that."

"It wasn't going to happen!" Lightning flashed outside the window, making them both jump as a tree split in two.

"Did you, uh?" Sam let the question hang.

"No idea," Dean whispered, pressing the accelerator all the way to the floor as the exit sign came up. He was grateful for the silence as he raced past gas stations and fast food drive-thrus to the first motel that appeared. Dean whipped into the parking lot and stopped his car. When he looked down, his hands were shaking. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled.

"I'll get a room," Sam said, getting out of the car.

Dean sat shaking for a moment when another voice filled the car.

"Hanging in there, Dean?"

His head whipped to the side. There was the bastard himself. "Mike, go away. Really can't deal with your shit right now."

Mike's deep blue eyes had a glow in the night Dean never noticed before. His pretty face grinned as Mike tilted his head to the side, causing a cascade of dark locks over the top of his head. Dean felt a snarl come over his face. He really didn't like this guy.

"Oh, come on, Dean. I thought maybe you would understand me a little better now." Mike smiled at him.

Dean seethed with contempt. "You might have warned me about the emotion thing."

Mike's eyebrows arched. "What emotion thing?"

"How some stuff is tied into your emotions."

"Oh." Mike nodded. "You're talking about the tree back there." His smooth lips pursed. "Well, to be honest, I forgot."

"Yeah, right. Tell me another one." Dean glared at him.

Mike let out a long suffering sigh. "Dean, have you ever known me to lie to you?" Mike waited for Dean to shake his head. "Have you ever wondered why?"

Dean started to snap off a typical retort, but his inability to lie about driving off the road flashed back painfully and only a single word passed his lips. "Yes." He took a deep breath. "You can't, can you?"

Mike shook his head. "Not unless it's something that could get you killed. Meaning," he held up a hand to clarify before Dean could jump his case about that, "if a lie will save someone's life, I can lie. Otherwise, it's truth or silence."

Dean sank back in his seat. "Silence doesn't always work that well with Sammy."

"I've noticed," Mike replied grimly. "Speaking of which, here he comes. Maybe things will look better in the morning."

Dean rolled his eyes, which he noticed were still glowing, as Mike disappeared. He watched in the mirror as he forced the glow from his eyes. He had to concentrate to do it, but it was getting easier. There was a tap on his window. Sam stood outside, waving a room key.

Dean stepped out of the car, grabbing his duffel from the back. After Sam did the same, Dean followed his brother to the room. He could feel Sam's anxious looks as they prepared for bed, but Dean had no words of encouragement or empty platitudes. It had to be true now.

"Dean? Your eyes aren't glowing." Sam said, freezing in the middle of the room.

"Yeah, I know," he replied.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything," riiiiiight, "but why not?" Sam's head tilted to one side again and Dean could feel his brother's insatiable curiosity.

"I figured it out," he said, rummaging in his bag.

"Really? How?"

"Practice." Dean hurried into the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

People are actually following this flight of oddball fantasy? Well, I must say - thanks! It's just my imagination run amok!!

**Chapter 3**

Dean stretched, feeling fully rested for the first time in how long? His eyes roved the typical crappy motel room. Funny, he didn't notice the iridescent wallpaper last night. Was that a freaking mirrored disco ball hanging in the middle of the room? No way was he bringing a chick back here. If she actually liked it, he was pretty sure he did not want anything to do with her anyway.

He stood, carefully stretching and popping his back. Man, he felt better than he had in years! Maybe this whole faced-down-an-archangel thing wouldn't be so bad. Right. He ran a hand over his face. What would he do the next time the cops picked him up? Tell the truth, of course. Wind up in the freaking loony bin, that's what. Fine, that just meant they couldn't get caught. Sure, sounded simple enough. Ought to be easy, right?

Only at breakfast that morning, Dean whipped out a bogus credit card to pay and could not give it to the waitress. Sam glared at him while Dean watched his own hand betray him, helpless to control it. When Sam offered a different bogus card, Dean nearly told the waitress it was a bad card. The only thing that saved them was Sam's foot connecting sharply with Dean's shin. This new weirdness would be a lot of things, but not easy.

Sam went in alone the rest of the day to pay for their gas, supplies, and secure a motel room for the night. Dean might screw it up. After all those years of hustling, being the one who provided, now Dean had to be dependent on baby brother. Oh, that was wrong in just so many ways! He decided there had to be a way to make this work for him, not just against him.

"Dean," Sam glanced nervously through the windshield, "I really don't think this is a good idea."

"You never do, Sammy," Dean snapped. "But I have to try."

Sam followed him inside the smoky bar, shaking his head the whole way. Dean knew Sam's head was shaking, he did not even have to turn around to check. That, more than anything else, really creeped him out. He pushed it to the back of his mind as he headed for the pool tables in the back. 'Truth or Silence.' Dean chose silence. Not exactly his strong suit, but he thought he could make it work.

He watched some of the men playing for a while, standing next to Sam and sipping a beer. As he watched, he noticed that one guy was way too confident despite losing two games. When the stakes were upped on the next game, Dean had that guy pegged as a hustler. He saw a few of the regulars eyeing the hustler, growing agitated. When the hustler took the next game easily, showing far more skill than he had before, Dean stepped forward.

"How about a real game?" he asked casually, knowing the three men in the corner had plans to take this man outside and beat him senseless. Dean did not question how he knew it, but it was pretty obvious. Sharing a look with Sam, he knew his brother had picked up on that little fact too. Dean flashed his best smile. "And let's make it really interesting." He pulled out the cash left in his wallet and laid it all on the corner.

Sam cleared his throat, moving behind the hustler and nodding to the three men in the corner. One man cracked his knuckles when the hustler looked over. "This a threat?" the hustler asked, having the decency to at least look nervous.

Dean looked the hustler over. He was around Dean's age but not nearly as proficient at hustling. The man did not know when to lose in order to save his own ass. Dean maintained his smile. "Oh, we're not with them," he nodded at the men. "I just like a challenge. Let's see what you got."

The hustler ran the table, not bothering to build up this time. His cover was blown. However, the men in the corner waiting to beat him into a pulp seemed to affect his concentration. With only two balls left on the table, he missed his next shot.

"Pretty good," Dean appraised his performance. Then he nodded to a stool. "You can sit down now." As the hustler sat, Dean lined up his first shot. It dropped in easily. The next few balls practically floated into their pockets. This was easier than he remembered. His trick shots, the ones designed to look like pure luck, did not come off that way. Even playing pool he couldn't lie, each shot showed the obvious skill behind it. As the last ball dropped out of sight, Dean snagged the cash off the corner. "I believe this is mine."

The hustler stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "You on the circuit or something?" he finally asked.

Dean grinned. "I just like the game." He sidled alongside the hustler. "You better leave now," he whispered.

Sam stood aside, covering the hustler's exit. For a moment Dean wondered why they were being so protective of this perfect stranger. Then he realized that he just didn't like the odds. Three to one was never good odds, especially when the three held pool cues like they planned to use them for batting practice, with the hustler as the ball.

"Hey!" One of the three men in the corner stepped forward. "That's my money."

Dean looked it over, inspecting the bills. "Funny. I don't see your name on it." He slipped the cash into his jacket pocket.

"Listen, pal," the man stepped right into Dean's personal space, "we don't appreciate hustlers in our place. So you can just leave that money and get the hell out."

Dean chuckled. "I didn't hustle anyone. Which is new for me, right, Sammy?" He felt Sam's eyes grow wide and his brother inspecting the other men for hostile movement. "But, you know, if you want to play for it?" Dean motioned to the table.

The man shook his head. "No way, man. No way. You just give me my money back and me and my boys will let you and the jolly giant there leave in one piece."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he studied this man. Clearly this was a case of a big fish in a small pond who could not recognize a shark when it swam in and looked him in the eye. And Dean was seriously considering biting. "Dude, you lost a bet. I won a bet. So unless you want to play for it, my brother and I will be leaving. Now."

With his back turned, he saw the hand reaching for his shoulder before he felt it. In that split second, Dean considered the possibilities of this match. He was certain even without archangel-like abilities he could clean the floor with this moron, but with them? One wrong move and he might send the poor schmuck sailing into next week, or next month. He did not really want to hurt the guy. Well, not much, anyway. Dean and Sam had what they came for, enough money for their room for the night and breakfast tomorrow. The most amazing part was that he did it honestly. Well, as honest as playing pool for money ever got anyway.

"Dean." Oh, that bastard would pick this minute to show up, wouldn't he? "Dean, you can't fight him."

Dean glanced over. Everyone in the room was frozen. "What the hell?"

Michael flinched. "Please, don't say that."

"What is this?" Dean demanded, waving a hand in front of Sam's unblinking eyes.

"We're in the time between moments."

Dean glared at those placid blue eyes, anger welling up within him. "You want to try that in English?"

Michael sighed. "I am trying, Dean. You see, time as you see it is a series of moments. This is the time between those moments. We exist and can move about freely in the time between moments."

Dean's brow furrowed as the tried to make sense of this garbage. "Are you trying to say you have the room on pause?"

Michael frowned, running a hand over his head. "Well, there is a little more to it than that. But, yes, essentially, I have paused this conflict."

"What conflict? There is no conflict." Dean protested, arms crossing over his chest.

"Not yet." Michael held up a finger. A thin smile trickled across his face. "You are learning how to deal with telling the truth all the time, aren't you? Well, I don't know why I'm surprised."

Dean rolled his eyes; he had a pretty good idea of why Michael might be surprised by anything he did well.

"Oh, come on, Dean. I don't think you're an idiot!" Michael stepped between him and the dude reaching for his shoulder.

"You act like it," Dean snapped. When the hell did he get so touchy? Why did he care what ol' Mike thought of him anyway? He shook off the unnecessary emotions like a dog shook off excess water.

"Watch it!" Michael warned.

"Now what?" Dean had a hard enough time reigning in his emotions around Mike as it was, this needling was pushing it.

"You can't just shake off emotions like that!" Michael snapped, clearly upset.

Dean reached up to massage that ridge forming between his eyes. "And why is that?"

Michael gestured around the room. "Because it can affect everyone!"

Dean looked at the others surrounding them like store mannequins. Tiny glitters of green dust sparkled on them. Dean cocked an eyebrow at Michael. "You're kidding. Right?"

"I don't kid, Dean." Michael said reproachfully.

Dean sighed. "I've noticed. So now what?" He reached out to brush the specks off Sam. They disappeared at his touch and he noticed that he felt slightly irritated. "Like that?" Mike nodded and Dean proceeded to sweep up emotions he would rather not have had in the first place. As he cleaned the specks of his extreme irritation off the bully reaching for his shoulder, an idea occurred to him.

"Hey, Mike, do Sam and I still have to be here when you unpause them?" Dean looked over hopefully.

"We don't do disappearing acts anymore, Dean." Michael gave him a stern look.

"Well, what if I'm just a couple of steps farther away?" he asked.

"Fine." Michael sighed. "Just…don't kill anybody. Can you do that?" Mike looked like he needed reassuring.

Dean shot him a glare. As Michael faded from the room, sound and activity picked back up slowly, like film running back up to speed. It was a pretty cool trick, one that could come in useful sometime, assuming he could figure out how it was done.

The expression on the dude's face was just priceless. He thought he was grabbing Dean from behind, but suddenly he and Dean were face-to-face, and a few steps farther apart. Dean stepped up so he could lean right into the guy's face.

"Dude," Dean shook his head at him, "you just don't know when to quit, do you? Oh, and you know, you have my brother all wrong. He's really not jolly."

At the moment Sam looked downright pissed off, but Dean had a hard time telling at who. Didn't matter, though, because it seemed to work. The guy did not move, just looked really confused as they backed out of the room. In the parking lot they both made for the car like a posse was after them, because if they hung around too long it would be.

Dean fired up his beloved car and they hightailed it out of there. Safe on the road, Dean beamed at his brother. "We did it!"

"Did what, exactly, Dean?" Sam demanded, turning in the seat to look at him. "Almost started a huge fight? Almost hurt those guys?"

Dean snarled. "They were just bullies, Sammy. Probably had it coming anyway. Besides, we didn't get into a fight and we didn't hurt anyone. Relax."

"Relax?" Oh, Sam sounded anything but relaxed. As a matter of fact, little brother sounded like he was just getting wound up now. "Relax, Dean? Between the two of us we could probably have leveled that entire bar! Killed everyone!"

Dean pulled off the road so he could face his brother. "Sammy. First of all, no one was hurt. No one would have been hurt. I had no intention of fighting anyone, regardless of what you and Mike may think."

Dean reached for the gear shift when Sam asked, "Mike? What does Mike have to do with what just happened back there?"

"He sort of…popped in." Dean said with a shrug.

"I never saw him," Sam protested, trying to catch his eye.

"Mike can pause things." Dean glanced over to see if Sam was done. "You know, time."

Sam stared out the front windshield. Dean put the car back in gear, pulled out on the road. "Dean? You said first of all. Was there a second thing you wanted to say?"

Dean grimaced. "I don't think I would have needed your help in taking out one bar."

_Crap_.

"You said it," Dean muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sam studied the Impala's dash, carefully shielding his thoughts from his brother. This was all too much happening too fast. He needed a little time away from big brother to think things through.

"Dean, why don't you drop me off at that store near the motel? We need a few things and I can walk back." His eyes slid over to watch that stubborn brother of his. Sure enough, Dean frowned.

"Walk back? I can wait in the parking lot, Sammy." Dean shot him a couple of anxious glances.

"I could use the exercise," Sam argued, trying not to sound like he just needed to be by himself. "It's not that far, Dean. And I have my cell."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, looking typically worried. "Well, I could go gas up while you're inside. You'll call if you want me to pick you up?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know I will, Dean."

His brother let out several heavy sighs before dropping him off at the grocery store. Relieved, Sam walked inside to search for bottled water and a few things for their first aide kit. Finally he had a few moments alone with his own thoughts, unencumbered by Dean's thoughts or emotions.

He could hear the thoughts of the other shoppers, but they were whispers compared with Dean. Dean's thoughts came through like shouting into a megaphone. Sometimes it was all Sam could do not to listen in on his brother's private thoughts, and Dean worrying excessively since the showdown with Mike certainly did not help. God, before the telepathy started he only thought his brother worried. Now he knew exactly how much, how often, and about what. Mostly, Dean worried about him. That should not have been a surprise, but the amount of worry and the intensity of it were.

Another bonus to being out in public by himself was the fact all of his emotions were now his own. Sam had the opportunity here to examine his thoughts and feelings without his brother's bleeding through and influencing him. Before he realized that he could actually experience Dean's emotions Sam had been well aware of them. Dean might not like acting touchy-feely or discussing those dreaded emotions, but Sam had always been pretty adept at reading his brother's moods and capitalizing on them to his advantage. When he was little, he would wait until Dean was in a particularly good mood to ask about playing at a new friend's house or to go to some kind of gathering like a birthday party. He always avoided asking for anything when Dean was in a bad mood, not because he was afraid of not getting his way, but because Dean always seemed more down afterwards. Days where Dad actually said something to Dean that was as close to praise as Dad ever got were the best. Dean would let him to do nearly anything on those days.

As Sam looked over the microwavable noodles in a cup, he turned their current situation over in his mind. When his abilities started to develop, it certainly freaked him out. He was pretty sure it freaked Dean out, too, not that his stubborn brother would ever admit to anything like that. Now that he thought about it, Sam was really grateful that he could not sense his brother's emotions back then. That might have been disastrous – for both of them. For the world. Sam shook his head, no sense in being melodramatic just because he was alone.

Comparing prices on bottled water, Sam selected three cases and added them to his cart. Now that Dean had abilities, archangel abilities, Sam felt pretty freaked out. He had a greater appreciation for his brother during that time when Dean had to pretend nothing bothered him, that everything was fine. Sam faced the same challenge now, and found it daunting. He stopped in the middle of the grocery isle, rubbing at his temple. A headache was building there. That reminded him, they were low on aspirin. He headed toward the pharmacy department.

How could he pretend none of this bothered him, that it was fine? It was not fine. It was anything but fine. Dean could be extremely dangerous – when he wanted to be. Most of the time, Dean was just a carefree kind of guy who liked to hustle pool and pick up women. Sam accepted that and, over the past few years, had even come to like that part of his brother. Now he felt like Dean was dangerous all of the time. His brother had abilities, powers, that they did not understand and Dean might not even be able to control. That fight in the bar, it was no laughing matter. He had felt Dean's indecision when the guy reached for Dean's shoulder, he heard Dean's whirlwind thoughts about death and destruction. Then, suddenly, it all stopped. Dean faced the guy down. Personally, Sam did not blame the guy for backing down. The way Dean looked at that moment, it was frightening. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory of Dean's face. Sam tried to imagine Mike with that expression and his blood ran cold. Yeah, those guys had to back down. No choice, really.

He grabbed several packages of jerky as he headed toward the checkout. What about this new problem of Dean not being able to lie? Sam didn't particularly like lying, even though he was very good at it. Dean could barely breathe without lying. He doubted his brother could even fill out a phony credit card form anymore. Now what? Jobs? Sam snorted as he handed over a credit card at the checkout. Okay, so now Sam had to be responsible for telling all the lies and procuring all the bogus credit cards. He figured he could handle that. But could Dean?

As he pushed his cart outside, Sam realized that there was no way he was walking all the way to their motel with a full grocery cart. He pulled out his cell to call his brother when he noticed a black car pull up in front of him. Dean jumped out and helped Sam load everything into the backseat.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam passed a case of water to his brother. "What are you doing here?"

"Were you seriously planning to carry all this crap half a mile?" Dean asked, sounding rather amused.

Sam paused as he reached in the cart for another case. "Well, I really wasn't thinking about that."

"Yeah, I know." Dean reached in, taking the case.

"Wait a minute," Sam grabbed his brother's arm as Dean turned around. "What do you mean – you know?"

Dean shrugged, pulling out of Sam's grasp.

"Dean?" Sam felt his heart thud loudly in his chest. "You could you, uh, hear my thoughts in there?"

Dean's head shook, but his brother did not look him in the eye. "Nah. I just kinda…" He reached for the containers of instant noodles. "Man, I hate these things."

"I got jerky for you." Sam held up one of the plastic bags. Dean replied with a short nod as he tossed the rest of Sam's purchases in the backseat. Sam slid into the passenger seat and waited for Dean to jog around the front of the car. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sam focused on his brother. "You just kinda what?"

"Huh?" Dean did not look at him, appearing to concentrate on traffic instead. Not that there was much traffic to distract him.

"I was about to call you, and you act like you knew it." Sam glared at his brother. Dean shrugged. "How, Dean?" He waited. Dean parked near their motel room. Without a word, his brother started carrying his purchases into the room.

With a huff, Sam followed, carrying the rest of the water with a bag dangling from one hand. Kicking the door closed, Sam crossed to the sole table in the room. He slammed the last case of water on it. "Dean!"

"Geez! What, Sammy?" Dean spun, looking a bit spooked.

"How did you know to come pick me up?" Sam demanded, intentionally blocking Dean's path.

Dean shrugged again, looking away. Big brother could only tell the truth now, huh? But he bet that was only when Dean actually said something. "Could you hear what I was thinking in the store? I know you can hear some of my thoughts now."

Dean flinched at that, but he shook his head.

"You could tell somehow that I was getting ready to call you?" Sam tried again. If Dean refused to just tell him, maybe Sam could guess the answer.

Dean sighed, shaking his head.

"Then what, Dean? What!" Exasperated, Sam flapped his arms at his brother. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he looked like a gigantic flightless bird.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, peeking out of the corner of one eye. "You called me," he said softly.

Sam shook his head. "I was getting ready to call you, Dean. I hadn't even picked your number in my cell yet."

Dean shook his head. "You called me," he insisted. When Sam opened his mouth to protest again, Dean shrugged. "I could feel it."

Sam's eyes widened. "But I didn't even decide to call you until I was outside."

Dean shrugged again. "Please don't ask me to explain it, Sammy." With a start, Sam recognized that tone in his brother's voice. Dean was really asking, practically begging Sam to drop it. Then he felt it, the underlying panic Dean felt coupled with fearful phrases like 'I don't know, I just don't know' and 'what the hell is happening to us?'

Sam sighed, pushing down his own panic that threatened to rise up. "Okay, Dean. No problem." He picked up the plastic bag with Dean's jerky and tossed it to him.

Dean pulled out a plastic bag filled with dried meat and shot Sam a grin. Sam knew it wasn't really for the treat, but he smiled back anyway. Dean threw himself back on one of the beds, bouncing. Sam rolled his eyes, ripping open one of the cases of water. He tossed Dean a water bottle and took one for himself.

"Anything on?" he asked, motioning to the television.

* * *

Dean picked up the remote off the nightstand and tossed it to his brother. When Sam did not reach out to catch it, it hovered near his head. Sam rolled his eyes, plucking it out of the air.

"What do you feel like?" Sam asked, turning on the set. "Action, comedy, or action?"

Dean shrugged, stuffing some jerky in his mouth. "Whatever."

He watched Sam flip through the channels until something with Mel Gibson appeared on the screen. "Here," Sam said, "this might be both. Or is that all three?"

Dean chuckled. "Probably all three." He tossed a chunk of jerky in the air, catching it in his mouth. At least that was something he did not need stupid powers for. Right? Dean glared at the jerky still in his bag. He ripped off a small chunk and stared at it a moment. It arced beautifully in the air as Dean returned his attention to the television screen, Mel Gibson just blew something up. He felt it bounce off his shirt before landing on his stomach. Relieved, Dean picked it up and tossed it up again, catching it in his open mouth.

Sam sighed. "Maybe I should have bought the candy instead."

Dean laughed. "You should have bought beer."

Sam cut his eyes at Dean. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Dean frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He had a feeling he was not going to like Sam's explanation.

"Well, Dean, since you…uh," Sam made a sweeping gesture that took in Dean's entire body, "you haven't had any alcohol. I didn't know if it would be a good idea." Sam shrugged, returning attention back to the movie.

Dean scowled. With a little concentration, he managed to shut the television off without the remote. "You didn't think it would be a good idea?" Dean demanded, sitting up.

Sam picked up the remote, pointed it at the television. The movie came back on. Dean shut it off again. Sam frowned at the remote, using it to turn on the movie again, which Dean promptly shut off. Sam glared at him.

"Are you doing that?" Sam motioned to the television with the remote.

"I want to know why you don't think beer would be a good idea," Dean insisted, ignoring the question.

Sam groaned, pushing up to a sitting position. He looked Dean right in the eye, which just confirmed the fact Dean would not like this. Dean gritted his teeth, waiting anxiously for Sam's logical, and annoying, argument.

"You're still learning to control these new abilities. I didn't think buying alcohol, which would impair your judgment, was a great idea."

"Why?" Dean demanded, feeling his anger rising. "Afraid I'd blow out a wall or something?"

Dean felt a twinge that he usually associated with guilt. Mentally he followed it and saw a thin string of light connecting that twinge of guilt with his brother. Clearly that was exactly what Sam feared. As he concentrated on that string of light, Dean began to see other strings, not as bright but just as real. They intersected throughout the room, criss-crossing everywhere as the actions of strangers impacted and influenced other people. Amazed, Dean followed the light strings with his eyes and his mind, tracing some back to other guests in the motel and their problems. Walls separating him from the guests seemed to disappear as he watched, their voices reaching him though he did not try to listen.

"Dean!"

A couple argued over her parents, whether or not they were too controlling. Another couple fussed over a crying baby, who was in pain because of a gas bubble in his stomach. A man paced his room, waiting for his wife to call him back, she should have been home an hour ago.

"Dean!" Hands shook him. Dean blinked and his views into the other rooms disappeared, replaced by boring off-white walls. The thin strings of light faded, replaced by his brother's worried face. "Dean?"

Dean blinked hard again, concentrating on Sam. Worry poured off his brother in shimmering blue waves. Dean shook his head, trying to clear it of voices and emotions.

"You know, maybe alcohol isn't such a good idea for right now," he admitted, glancing sheepishly up at Sam as he leaned back on the bed. The television flickered to life and Dean pointed to the screen. "Look, this is a good part."

Standing, Dean headed for the door. "Relax, Sam." He waved his brother back without looking. "I just need a little air." Without waiting for his brother's protest, Dean slipped outside pulling the door closed behind him. He headed for a room just on the other side of the motel. As he approached the door, he could hear the wails of an angry, upset baby. He knocked.

A haggard looking man opened the door. "Look, I'm really sorry. We're doing everything we can."

"Is he sick?" Dean asked, subtly pushing the door open a little wider.

The woman, leaning over the portable crib where she rubbed the infant's back, said in a desperate, tear-filled voice, "Maybe he is sick. I just don't know!"

Dean smiled encouragingly. "Your first, right? Can I see him? Do you mind?" He took a tentative step into the room, trying to radiate confidence.

"Sure." The man stepped aside. "Let the gentleman have a look at Cody, honey."

She gave him a weak smile as he approached. Dean grinned at her, reaching for the baby. "Oh, poor kid." He sat the baby upright supporting his head with a firm hand just under the chin, and the spot between the infant's shoulder blades glowed. He rubbed that spot in circles until the child let out a huge belch followed almost immediately followed by a spurt of white chunky substance that made Dean want to gag. The baby quit fussing immediately and his eyes grew heavy. By the time Dean laid the child down in a clean area of the crib, he was sound asleep.

"Looks like it was just a little gas," he explained, trying hard not to gag. "I better go, my brother will be wondering where I wandered off." He shot them a grin as he made his way out, hoping they would relax some, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks again to everyone following my bizarre flight of fancy here. If you want canon, go check out Murphy's Law (new chapter is up), but if you're looking for something more off-the-wall, you've come to the right place!!

**Chapter 5**

Sam paced the room, waiting anxiously for his brother to return. He wanted to know where Dean went in such a hurry and why, but at the moment he could not read his brother. While Sam was pretty sure that he needed close proximity to feel Dean's emotions and hear his thoughts, he did not know how close Dean needed to be and right now he feared that his brother was further away than just a quick walk.

Unable to wait it out, Sam grabbed his jacket and darted out of their room. He headed in the direction he thought Dean went. As he concentrated on finding his brother, Sam noticed luminescent green footprints on the walkway leading away from their room. Frowning, Sam bent down to investigate the glowing footprints. When he swiped a finger through one, he realized that the glow actually came from above the pavement.

"Okay," Sam wiped his finger off on his jeans as he stood, "this is definitely getting interesting."

He began to follow the footprints when an idea occurred to him. Sam looked around for another guest. He found a man carrying two suitcases from the parking lot. "Excuse me, sir!" He pointed down at the glowing footprints. "You see those footprints there?"

The man paused with a loud sigh. His suitcases banged against his legs and he winced as his eyes searched the pavement. "What footprints?" The man moved away, shaking his head with a confused expression.

Sam glanced back down. The green glowing footprints were still there. "Thanks!" he called out, waving a hand as he followed the footprints. "Really interesting," he muttered. A set of glowing blue footprints crossed the green ones, leading in a different direction.

Sam paused at the intersection, wondering which prints he should follow. A shimmering blue butterfly darted in his face, causing Sam to jerk backwards. It followed the route of the blue footprints, not that that should be surprising. Not anymore. Sam followed the shimmering, fluttering wings out into the parking lot. Next to Dean's car stood a large man with wild, dark hair. When he looked up, his blue eyes had that same glow Dean's did now.

"Mike?" Sam asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Michael cleared his throat. "You know, I may have to take that from your brother, but I don't from you."

Sam froze, remembering saying something similar to Michael about calling him Sammy. "Right. Sorry." He cocked his head to the side, regarding Michael. "You have to take it from Dean?"

A rueful smile crossed Michael's perfect face. "Well, it's not like I can make him stop, is it?"

Sam shrugged. He did not have an answer for that and was not sure he wanted to know what the answer would be. "I take it the butterfly was you?"

"From me," Michael held up a hand, "just from me. I needed to talk to you. Since Dean is a little busy right now, I thought it might be a good time."

"Busy?" Alarm bells rang in Sam's head. "What do you mean, Dean is a little busy right now? Does he need help?" He looked wildly around, ears straining for the sounds of fighting.

"Relax," Michael snorted, "not that kind of busy. He's finding some new, um, duties to attend to."

Sam eyed Michael without bothering to hide his irritation. No wonder Dean always acted so annoyed. Was Michael always like this, but Sam was too busy either blocking his thoughts or trying to wheedle information to notice? Did he have some heavy apologizing to do. "What kind of duties?"

"Don't worry about it." Michael waved a hand lazily. "That's not why I'm here. It's the footprints."

Sam glanced back. The green footprints still glowed brightly. "What about them?"

"How long have you been able to see angel tracks?"

Sam's head snapped around so he could stare directly at Michael. "Excuse me?"

Michael looked away, studying the night sky. "So it's new, huh? That's what we were afraid of."

"You mind explaining that?" Sam demanded, advancing on Michael. He felt the regular sensation of being in the presence of a being far greater, far more powerful than him, but it did not bother him this time. Maybe it was being with Dean so much, or the fact Sam knew if Michael tried anything, big brother would have more than words in response.

"Michael," Sam emphasized the name, trying to catch the archangel's eye, "what the hell are you talking about?"

Michael shrugged. "I have to go now. You mind letting us know if you notice anything else like, uh, that?" He pointed to the path that led Sam here.

"And if I do mind?" Sam asked, hoping for at least a smattering of information.

"We'll be watching." Michael waved, fading from sight.

Sam sighed, returning to follow the glowing green footprints. He ran into Dean as he rounded the corner.

"Sammy!" Dean looked startled, like Sam just caught him sneaking an extra cookie or something. "What, uh, what are you doing? Out here?" His hands thrust into his jeans pockets.

"Looking for you," Sam admitted. "Dean, where were you?"

Dean sighed, brushing past Sam. "Why would you be looking for me, Sam? Aren't I allowed out by myself anymore?"

Sam winced. It did look like that, didn't it? And it couldn't be Dean just saying that to make him feel guilty, because Dean could not lie anymore. Sam followed, rubbing the knot forming at the base of his neck. "I was just worried, Dean. I couldn't, uh…"

Dean paused at the next door, glancing back at Sam. "You couldn't what?"

Sam sighed, figuring he should be honest with Dean on this. "I couldn't tell where you were, and I was worried you left."

Dean's eyebrows arched. "Well, that's a switch."

Those words coupled with his brother's calm, amused tone sent another tidal wave of guilt crashing down on Sam. Yes, he knew what that meant without having to hear his brother's voice in his head saying 'You're the one who leaves, not me.' Sam scowled in response. "Just going to keep throwing that in my face, are you?"

Dean took a step backward, clearly startled. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam huffed, "Never mind!" He stormed past heading for their room. Within a few steps, he realized his brother was not behind him. Sam looked back over his shoulder to find Dean knocking on the door they had paused beside.

Curiosity had always been Sam's weakness. The first time someone warned him that curiosity had killed the cat, he instantly had a desire to know what was that important. As a little kid, he assumed it had to do with the reason they moved around so much. When he was a little older, he decided the cat must have been researching a nightmare thing that his dad hunted. Now he'd like to strangle the damned busybody himself. Some things were not worth knowing, especially with all this crap happening to his brother…

Without realizing what he was doing, Sam now stood right beside his brother in the motel doorway. "Sorry for interrupting," Dean's voice radiated confidence and peace, which sounded and felt strange to Sam. Not the confident part, the peaceful part. He usually thought of his brother more as a storm than a peacemaker. "But my brother and I couldn't help overhearing your argument." Dean's winning smile beamed. "Anything we can do?"

A woman, rather young and plump with a pleasant face who stood no taller than Dean's shoulder, edged around her husband. "You can tell this idiot that my parents are NOT too controlling!" she shouted breathlessly, her face red, as if she had just been running hard.

Sam watched his brother take a single step into the room. The tension in the husband's shoulders eased and the woman breathed easier. That was a bit odd even for them, he had to admit.

Dean chuckled, eyeing the husband. "Not sure I could do that, ma'am. I haven't met anyone else's parents who are more controlling than my dad was." He glanced to the side, a sly smile on his lips. "Right, Sam?"

Sam grinned, filled with peaceful thoughts and feelings. "He threw me out of the house for wanting to go to college."

The woman's eyes widened. "Your dad?"

Sam nodded. That had been pretty much his reaction, too. Of course, since he knew at the time that Dad would never just let him leave, Sam had intentionally goaded his father into throwing him out.

"What's too controlling?" Dean asked, his eyes riveted to the husband.

The man, who was barely a head taller than his wife and twice as plump, stiffened at the question. "They picked out a house for us. It's within walking distance!"

"That's nice," Dean replied. Sam glanced over to see if his brother was serious, forgetting momentarily that Dean could not lie. "So what's wrong with that?"

"See!" the woman shouted back but there was no malice in her voice, just exasperation.

The man's sigh filled the room. "They just did it so they could keep an eye on us, because they don't trust me."

"Trust you?" Her eyes were wide and her mouth fell open. "Seriously? That's what you think?"

"You don't think," Dean's words were soft and careful, "that maybe they just miss their daughter?" The man swallowed hard, watching Dean with interested eyes. Dean's head tilted to one side as he studied the husband. "Just because your parents rarely knew where you were and who you were with, doesn't mean all parents are like that. Your wife's parents always knew her friends and their plans and exactly where she was."

"So did Dad," Sam whispered, seeing the point Dean was driving at.

Dean flashed him a small, sad smile and a nod.

"But she's all grown up now," the man protested, but the fire had gone out of his argument.

"Parents still worry about you, no matter how old you are," Sam said, the last arguments with his father filtering through his mind. "You're still their children."

"What about when you have children?" Dean asked, motioning to the woman. "That'll be in, what, six months?"

She blushed furiously, nodding. Her husband took a step back. "I never thought about it like that."

Sam watched and waited as Dean studied the couple. With a satisfied nod, he turned away. "We need to go now. There's a good Mel Gibson movie on channel seven."

Sam followed his brother back to their room. He waited for Dean to say something, but that stubborn brother of his just jumped onto the bed closest to the door and turned full attention on the movie. Sam followed his brother's example, but slow and deliberate, thinking about what he just witnessed. Dean's tone and mannerism was so familiar, he found himself wondering if any of it really had to do with his brother's new abilities.

"You're good at that," Sam finally forced himself to say during a commercial break. Dean just shrugged, taking a long pull on his water bottle. "Is it just from all the practice Dad and I gave you?"

Dean shrugged again. "Maybe I'm just a natural peacemaker." He flashed that brilliant smile again.

"I seem to recall," Sam studied the ceiling, "a certain high school principal who was convinced you were destined for prison."

Dean's laughter echoed in the room. "He was right, wasn't he? Hey, let's send him my mugshot!"

Sam rolled his head to the side, unable to stop grinning. "Nah, the guy was a total jerk. Why let him think he might actually be right?"

The movie resumed, interrupting their conversation. As more stuff blew up, accompanied by bad puns and lots of dead bodies, Sam concentrated on how Dean settled that married couple's argument. Dean really did have a lot of practice at that, always coming between him and Dad. Sam sighed to himself, regretting again wasting all that time arguing when he should have been getting to know the man better, understanding him the way Dean did.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam." Dean's gentle voice cut across his thoughts. Sam realized the room was quiet, the television off. "You and Dad, you were too much alike. You're both stubborn and convinced you're always right. There was no way you two could be around each other without fighting."

"But Dean," they had this argument before, but never to Sam's satisfaction, "the last time I saw the man, I picked a fight."

Dean nodded slowly. "And the fact he didn't fight with you, didn't yell back, should have told both of us that there was something really, really wrong."

Sam blinked back unbidden tears. "It wasn't your fault. You do know that." No response. "Dean?"

Dean looked back at the television, which flickered to life. "Oh, good, the late night talk shows are on. I like this guy, he's funny." Another chunk of jerky arced through the air to land directly in Dean's open mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

Okay – here's an update! Please don't go 'Misery' on me!! (giggle, snort, chuckle)

Well, this chapter gets a little emo – okay, a LOT emo – but the guys still have a few issues they've never worked out and they can't dodge them any more. Next chapter will be back on the road again! (Wonder when we'll get to Seattle…)

**Chapter 6**

Dean stared up at the yellow water stained ceiling. Light from the television flickered across its surface, the only light source inside the room. Lifting his head, Dean looked around. The room seemed quiet, peaceful. So what woke him?

As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, Dean noticed he had not changed for bed. "Dude, I didn't fall asleep watching bad late night talk shows again?" he mumbled, his foggy brain searching for the reason he woke up. Concentrating on noises, Dean realized that the room was quiet. Really quiet. His eyes snapped open wide. Too quiet.

Dean leapt to his feet, rushing to check on the next bed. As he expected, it was empty. "Damn it! Not again." He sat heavily on Sam's bed, heart racing. "Well, guess I screwed up. Again."

'_Enough_!' The word ricocheted in his mind, hard and piercing, and oddly - not his voice. Dazed, Dean searched for the source but the room was still empty.

He cleared his throat. Feeling perhaps more stupid than he was sure he looked, Dean asked, "Who said that?"

'_Who do you think, you big jerk?_'

Dean grinned, looking around in earnest now. "Sam? Where are you? Where did you…" his voice trailed off as he noticed those strings of light from before. A bright one came out his stomach, right around the navel, and reached out through the wall. Using his eyes, Dean followed it. The wall appeared to melt away and he saw Sam sitting outside on the ground, leaning against a tree and staring at the Impala. With a sigh of relief, Dean pushed off the bed.

He went outside, the strings of light so faint the only one he could make out was Sam's. Dean followed it to his brother and joined him on the ground, leaning against the tree. They sat in silence for a time. Despite his worry about what would drive Sam out here in the middle of the night, Dean could not bring himself to attempt to listen in on his brother's thoughts. So he waited. Sam was the one who liked to talk and discuss feelings. If he waited long enough he should be able to discover what brought his brother out here.

"Nightmare," Sam replied, though Dean had not asked the question out loud.

"I'm surprised it didn't wake me," Dean observed. Sam's nightmares usually woke him up.

"Me, too," Sam said, though there was a hard edge to his voice. "I'm guessing you're pretty used to them."

Dean turned his head to look at his brother. In the pale yellow light from the parking lot, he saw Sam's deeply creased brow and that pinched look that never meant anything good. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dean, I…" Sam's voice trailed off. Dean had the distinct impression that Sam needed to say something, though he had no idea what it might have to do with a nightmare. He settled in to wait, but it did not take long. Sam cleared his throat. "You should have told me."

Oh, great. Now what? He was being accused of holding back again, and had no idea about what. "Told you what?" He sounded annoyed. Good.

Sam sat up and turned to face him. "About your nightmares."

His what? "My what?" Dean frowned at his brother. "Dude, you're the one with nightmares, not me."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam pounded the ground next to him. "Don't lie to me about this! I saw it! I saw your nightmare!"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Sammy, maybe you had a nightmare and just thought it was mine?"

"No!" Sam's shout echoed through the parking lot. He took a deep breath and when he spoke next, his voice was close to normal. "Dean, I know it was yours. I don't have nightmares about that."

Dean shrugged. "Okay, so what was it about? This nightmare I was supposed to have?"

From the look Sam gave him, he knew his brother still did not believe him. Man, unable to lie and his little brother still jumped to that assumption! He didn't know whether to feel flattered or insulted.

"It was about when I left for Stanford. The fight." Sam's eyes flickered up to meet his briefly before dropping to study the ground. "I mean, I knew it was pretty bad, but I guess I never realized…" Sam took another deep breath. "I don't think I ever considered how you saw it."

This was the last thing Dean expected. He really thought Sammy had the nightmare, not him. But it sounded like the dream was from his perspective. Maybe Sam had a nightmare from his point of view? Right, and he was going to sprout wings and… No, not going there.

"And how did I see it?" he asked softly, the fingers of his left hand tracing tree roots dipping into the ground. The rough bark felt natural and warm despite the chill in the air.

Sam peered through his curtain of brown bangs. "Like you were a failure because you couldn't keep our family together. Dean, didn't you know that the only reason I stayed as long as I did was because of you?"

The words stabbed. It certainly sounded like something that plagued his thoughts, but he did not remember any dreams like that. Well, not recently anyway.

"It had to be your nightmare, Dean. The ones I have about Dad aren't like that. They're a little more, uh, violent." Sam's head ducked down again.

"Oh?" It was Dean's turn to sit up. "Or am I going to have to try to eavesdrop on your dreams?"

Sam sighed heavily. "It's not like I meant to, Dean. I can't help it. We're together so much, I'm pretty sure I started picking up your thoughts and emotions long before the telepathy really kicked in. As a matter of fact, I have to work at blocking you out most of the time."

"Sorry," Dean mumbled. He knew Sam could read him, but he had no idea it was that bad. "Maybe it would be better if-"

"No!" Sam interrupted. "I didn't mean that!" Sam looked him in the eye now. "I meant, if I don't work at blocking you out, I can't tell if what I'm thinking is me or you. If what I'm feeling are my emotions or yours."

Dean balked at that. That sounded horrible, worse than any nightmare. How could Sam live like that? He couldn't, Dean decided. It was wrong. They were going to have to…

"No, Dean." Sam sounded calmer now. "It isn't that bad. You act like it's horrible for me, but it isn't. I work so hard at blocking you out so you can have some privacy. It isn't right for me to experience all of your thoughts and emotions. Though I have to admit, blocking the thoughts is much easier than blocking emotions." A thin grin appeared on Sam's face. "Half the time I'm not sure if it came from you or not."

"It sounds terrible, Sam," Dean insisted. "You can't live like that. It's wrong. It's just wrong."

"Dean." Sam reached out, touched his upper arm. A flash, like lightning, passed between them, almost exactly the same way it did after he woke from his three day 'nap.' Sam yanked his hand back, looking as startled as Dean felt, but now Dean understood. It was more than a little creepy, but he saw how Sam actually preferred things this way. Sam had insecurities that Dean never imagined, foremost being losing big brother again to a misunderstanding. Now he saw that The Fight with Dad was about Sam forcing his way out of Dad's control and going to college to study whatever he wanted. Sam never intended to lose Dean, he always thought Dean would follow him out there, pester him, plead and demand for Sam to make nice with Dad. The ensuing years of silence were as hard for his brother as they had been for Dean. When Dean broke into Sam and Jess' apartment, Sam's line about Dean using the phone was serious. Dean had never dreamed his brother would answer, which buried Sam in enough guilt to at least spend a weekend with Dean looking for Dad. Sam had hoped after that weekend that Dean would start calling, dropping by occasionally for a beer and pool evening. Something. _Anything_.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean shook his head to clear it of the images – lonely birthdays, holidays with friends and feeling like an outsider, spotting strange happenings in the paper and wondering if his family was hunting it and if they were hurt. "If that's the way you want it, fine."

"Dean," Sam sounded exasperated, "it's not that I want it that way. I just…I don't know." Sam ran both hands through his hair, ending with his head hanging down and hands clamped behind his neck.

Dean cleared his throat. "I guess it's just something we can't do anything about."

Head still down, Sam nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

"You know, if I'd thought…" Dean's voice ran out on him. "When I came to get you at Stanford, I wasn't sure I could talk you into coming."

Sam lifted his head a little, just enough to make eye contact with Dean. "Was it as hard as you thought it'd be?"

Dean could not suppress the smile on his face. "Nope. Honestly, it was downright easy compared to what I thought it'd be like." He thought about it for a moment. "You would have answered the phone if I called, huh?"

Sam nodded. "You really didn't think I would, did you?"

Dean shook his head, leaning back against the tree again. "Not after the way you and Dad went at it. I didn't even think you'd let me in the front door."

"So you broke in." Sam chuckled. "Scared the crap out me, you know."

Dean grinned at the memory. "It was awesome."

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean rolled his head to the side, to look at his little brother. "I take it neither of us is sleeping any more tonight. Should we just hit the road?"

Sam leaned back against the tree beside him. "Well, we don't really want the cops spotting your glowing eyes at night, do we?"

Dean started to protest because he had control over that now, most of the time. Then he had the feeling Sam just wanted to sit and talk for a while. Well, it had been some time since he let Sam go all emo on him. "Guess not," he said, sliding to the side until his shoulder touched Sam's. With the physical contact, Dean could now hear and feel Sam's thoughts loud and clear. "I wanted to call, you know," he said. He felt a surge of emotion at that.

"Me too." Sam let out a deep sigh. "Maybe I should have."

"Maybe not," Dean said with a shrug that brushed his brother's shoulder. "I got to spend more one-on-one time with Dad. That hadn't happened since before you were born."

"You say it like it was a good thing," Sam sounded surprised. Dean wondered at that; his brother could read his thoughts and emotions, nothing should be surprising.

"Well, I'm not saying it was easy, at first. But you know, without the two of you at each other's throats, Dad's not bad to be around." He remembered long nights staking out spirits, watching Dad read his musty old books, and being thrown into more than one wall while Dad watched either shocked or angry. He wondered if Dad ever got used to that part.

"Probably not," Sam said. "I've seen it most of my life, and I still cringe every time you get thrown."

Dean chuckled. The night air had warmed and felt nice and the company was good. They could hang out here for a little while, even if Sam did want to walk down emo-lane.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, this story is becoming more and more fun for me. My apologies to those following Murphy's Law for a lack of updates this week. I needed some planning time. So - on with the weird!!

**Chapter 7**

Sam noticed that as his brother relaxed and just talked to him, the evening warmed. Now logically the later it got the chillier the night should be, but tonight did the exact opposite and somehow it did not bother him. A part of him knew it was all right, even it was strange.

As the night wore on and the sky turned a rosy pink in the East, Sam felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. He found himself leaning heavily against Dean's shoulder as the topic changed from metal bands to holidays. Oddly, Sam did not feel tired or sleepy even though they stayed up all night. He just felt warm and comfortable, like he was at home curled up with a good book. Instead he sat in a parking lot with his brother, which just might be even better.

"Come on," Dean pushed off the tree to stand. Sam tried not to forget about Dean's back, but it had slipped his mind after experiencing that nightmare. That whole incident with Dean's back had been pretty scary, to say the least. He made of point of carrying the heaviest stuff they had, and trying to arrange it so his brother would not have to bend over too often. Neither was particularly easy, especially considering how stubborn Dean was, but he tried. Right now Dean moved a little stiffly after sitting on the ground pretty much all night. "Don't worry about it," Dean said, motioning for Sam to follow, "the kinks will work themselves out in a minute."

Sam opened his mouth to answer, then stopped in his tracks. He suddenly realized that he was not blocking Dean's thoughts. The realization turned him cold, despite the warmth he could still feel on his skin. How long had he been allowing Dean's thoughts and emotions to flow unchecked through him? Had Dean gone all night without any privacy whatsoever?

A sigh from Dean attracted his attention. "Come on, Sammy. It's not like I really mind." His brother's head turned and he saw those gently glowing green eyes. "Maybe I prefer it like that."

Sam caught up with his brother in a couple of quick steps. "How's that?" He could feel Dean's amusement.

"Well," Dean's eyes glowed a little brighter, "I think I get it. It's nice knowing that you aren't thinking about ditching me and taking off on your own." He shrugged as a fresh wave of guilt washed over Sam. "Dude, you know it's one of the things I worry about. When you're open like this, it doesn't even occur to me." A bright smile flashed over his brother's face.

Sam chuckled. He guessed his feeling of amusement flowed from big brother, but he could not be sure. "Okay, Dean. Whatever you say."

"Now that's more like it!" Dean perked up. "After all, I am the oldest. That means I'm always right."

Sam rolled his eyes as he followed Dean to their room. "Yeah, right. That's exactly what I meant."

They packed in an easy silence. Sam felt better than he had in a long time. He understood now that he had not been blocking Dean just to give his brother privacy, he had been afraid of Dean's thoughts. He feared that Dean still held a grudge and blamed him for leaving for school or picking all those fights with their dad. The fact Dean didn't, and he would have, showed just one of the things he admired about his brother.

"That's because I'm an awesome big brother," Dean said, slinging his duffel over one shoulder. "You ready yet, princess?"

Sam grinned, unable to restrain these goofy emotions. "Just about. Let me check the room one more time."

Dean rolled his eyes, as though this was Sam's most annoying trait, but Sam knew it really did not bother his brother. He scanned through the room again, finding only an old razor next to the sink. Sam threw it in the trash before following his brother outside.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam closed the door behind him. "What do you want to do for breakfast?"

Dean stood by the car. "Let's see what we spot," he hollered back, waving for Sam to get a move on.

Sam jogged to the car and threw his bag in the back before sliding into his spot in the passenger seat. He relaxed into the black leather, waiting for Dean to fire up the motor. As the soothing roar of the Impala filled the car, he grinned to himself.

"No place like home, huh, Dorothy?" Dean asked with a chuckle as they backed out of their parking space.

"So who does that make you? The scarecrow who needed a brain or the cowardly lion?" Sam teased.

"Tin man," Dean stated instantly.

Sam frowned at him. "Dean, you don't need a heart."

Dean shrugged. "He thought he did. The scarecrow was really the smart one and the cowardly lion was probably the bravest of the group."

Sam sat, stunned, listening to his brother's take on The Wizard of Oz. "Dude, when did you get deep? Come to think of it, when did you ever watch past the part with the flying monkeys?"

Dean shrugged. "I read the Cliff Notes for school."

His brother's amusement came over him in waves. "You saw the whole thing, didn't you?" Sam turned to watch Dean's face. "I was the reason you never watched after the flying monkeys showed up, right?" That amusement intensified.

"Well, they scared you when we were kids. I guess I kind of got in the habit of turning it off at that point, even after you were older." He chuckled. "Then you just assumed it scared me, so I kept it up."

Sam, caught up in his brother's amusement, laughed. "So this is a joke you've kept up for twenty years?" He shook his head. "Dude, sometimes you're really something else."

"Yeah," Dean replied, "I know."

Sam resisted the urge to zap his brother in the shoulder again. At the thought, he felt a fresh surge of glee. "Stop it," he warned, "or I'll do it." But he laughed as he said it.

"That looks like a good place." Dean pulled into one of those places that specialized in breakfast all day. "I'm starved, let's go."

Sam noticed the twinkle in his brother's eye, along with something else. "Dean!" he hissed. He motioned to his own eyes.

"Oh." Dean paused, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they looked normal. "Better?"

Sam nodded, falling in step with his brother. "So, how much farther to Seattle?" Dean asked, pushing the door open.

Sam frowned as he stepped inside. "We should be there by evening. Dean, you're the one driving, don't you know where we are?"

Dean slid into a far booth. "I know exactly where we are, Sammy." He shrugged. "I'm just not sure how long it'll take to get where we're going."

Sam frowned. That was not a Dean-like statement. Dean could normally give him a fifteen minute window for their arrival. "Dean, you can't be serious!"

"Here ya go," a waitress who had seen better days slapped plastic coated menus in front of them. "I'm Sheryl, your waitress. What do ya want ta drink?"

Dean smiled that bright smile. "Just coffee for me and my brother." Sam nodded in agreement so she would leave.

"Sam," Dean said in an undertone, "I can't lie. Why wouldn't I be serious?"

Sam wanted to laugh at Dean on that one, but he knew it would not be appreciated. "You've been driving all over the country pretty much your entire life. How could you not know how long it'll take us to get to Seattle?"

Dean shrugged again, looking out the window. "It's not important."

An unsettled feeling came over Sam. "How is it not important, Dean?"

His brother studied the menu, not looking at him. "It's just not. Drop it, Sam."

Okay, now that was downright disturbing. Dean's irritation was visible now, a distinct glow settling around his brother. Kind of creepy, to be honest. Sheryl, the waitress, returned with their coffees. "Ready ta order?" she asked, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Eggs and bacon," Dean replied, handing over the menu. His eyes settled on Sam and one eyebrow lifted.

"Oh, uh, the same." Sam handed back his menu, too.

"Scrambled?" she asked. Dean nodded, still staring at Sam. Sam nodded too, more to get her to leave than because he preferred his eggs scrambled.

"Then you should have ordered what you wanted," Dean snapped as she walked away.

"Come on, Dean," Sam muttered, leaning across the table. "I just want to know why it isn't important for you to know how long it takes to get to Seattle."

"Because," Dean mumbled, looking out the window. He sighed. "Great, here we go again." Dean stood, glaring at Sam. "Wait here, I should be back by the time the eggs are ready." Sam moved to follow, but Dean's glare seemed to pin him in his seat. "If you leave, they'll think we just took off and I'm hungry." He pointed a finger in Sam's face. "Stay."

Dean walked outside. As Sam watched, his brother appeared to be studying the air around him. Then he followed an invisible line into the parking lot. A little nervous, Sam waited. Even though he no longer blocked Dean's thoughts, Sam was discovering that his brother could be just as enigmatic as ever. What the hell was all this about anyway?

A large man walked through the door Dean just exited. Sam ignored him, trying to keep a fix on his brother. He could sense Dean was not far. A hand waved in front of his face, breaking his concentration. Annoyed, Sam looked up into perfectly chiseled features and wind-swept, curly hair. This was really not helping.

"Now, Sam, don't be like that." Mike chided, slipping into Dean's seat. "He's starting to do some good work."

Sam clamped down on his emotions, throwing up his personal walls to keep Mike out. "We've been doing good work," he said defensively.

Mike held up both hands. "I'm not saying you haven't, I was just commenting that Dean is starting to do well with his new responsibilities." Mike smiled and Sam's irritation doubled, and this time he did not bother to hide it. "Now, Sammy, it was supposed to be a compliment."

"It's Sam!" he snapped. "Only Dean gets to call me that and you know it." He took a deep breath, trying to settle his rising anger and block precious-Mike. "So what are these new responsibilities?"

Mike rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Sam. "He should have looked away, you know. Everyone else does. Brought it on himself."

"You're avoiding the question." Sam leaned his head to one side, seeing Mike in a new light. "You can't lie either, can you?" When Mike just cleared his throat, Sam tried again. "Are these new responsibilities similar to yours, Michael?"

Mike shook his head. "More of a novice level, to be honest. I have a bit more experience."

"At being a windbag?" Dean's voice floated in gently. "Relax Sam, I'll be there in a sec. Stupid dog won't quit leaving his calling card at the tree."

Sam glanced around, but no one else appeared to notice anything out of the ordinary. "What was that?" Sam whispered.

"Uh, your brother. Don't you recognize his voice?" Mike smirked.

Sam glared at the archangel sitting across from him. An image of Michael with white wings and harp floated through his mind and he could not suppress a chuckle.

"I don't do that," Mike snarled, eyes flashing with blue fire.

Sam chuckled again, trying to hide behind his menu. He knew it was hopeless, so he hoped to stall long enough for Dean to return. "What's up, Michael?" Sam managed to sputter. "Come to ask Dean to tune your harp?" At that, Sam doubled over with laughter, leaning across the table. His coffee was in imminent jeopardy, but fortunately it slid out of the way in the nick of time. Speaking of the nick of time, he felt Dean's presence.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Sam looked up into Dean's broad smirk. "Hey Mike." Dean motioned and Sam scooted over. His brother slid into the spot next to him. "What's up? The Impala not fast enough for you?"

Mike glared at them both, his heated gaze finally settling on Dean, much to Sam's relief. "I take it this was your doing?" Mike tilted his head toward Sam.

"I wasn't here," Dean replied innocently, but Sam recognized that tone and the fact his brother really didn't answer the question.

Mike groaned, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. So, Dean, how are the new duties coming along?"

Sam felt Dean bristle beside him. "Fine."

Mike smiled, and it seemed almost sympathetic. Almost. "I just came to see if you still wanted the Seattle job."

Sam felt Dean lean over and their shoulders touch. Sam had the image of a run-away dog being herded back to his owner, a distraught boy searching feverishly. "Why wouldn't we?" Dean demanded in his usual take-charge voice.

Mike shrugged. "You might be a little to busy for spirits these days."

That irritated Sam, from the roots of his hair right down to his toenails. "Uh," Dean motioned to include both of them, "you're talking to Winchesters here, dude. Now, unless you're here to be helpful?" Dean pointed out the door.

"Fine." Mike pushed off the table, standing. "Just trying to be nice. See if I make that mistake again." He shot a glare at Dean which was returned with equal vehemence.

Sam waited until he was pretty sure Mike was way, way, way out of earshot. Dean moved to the far side of the booth, where Sam supposed Dean could watch the door. "I take it the wings and harp thing was you?" he asked, grinning.

Dean shrugged, but the hilarity of the moment returned to Sam in full force. "I thought so!" he crowed as the image of Mike playing a little gold harp while perched on a fluffy white cloud blazed in his mind. "Stop it," Sam pleaded, unable to catch his breath. "Dean!"

A swift pat on the shoulder and Sam could breathe again. He glanced into his brother's beaming face. "Pretty awesome, right?"

Sam grinned. "I'll say."


	8. Chapter 8

Note: any and all websites mentioned I made up – if they really exist, it's entirely coincidental

Thanks to all you oddballs out there enjoying this oddball fic! I'm just having some fun here!!

**Chapter 8**

"So, Dean," Sam said over their hot scrambled eggs, "what are these new responsibilities?"

Dean scowled at his brother. He did not really want to discuss this, now or ever. "How are your eggs?"

Well, Sam was certainly open now, that was for sure. The annoyance with his avoidance was palatable. Dean tried to ignore it, but Sam's glare was like two hot beams boring through his skull. He tried to eat but the food tasted bland, washed-out.

"Fine," Dean sighed, setting down his fork. "I have to help people." He waited, knowing Sam would have a thousand and one questions about that.

Sam continued to glare at him. "And?"

Dean shrugged. "That's it." He picked up his fork again.

"Help people how, Dean?" Sam demanded.

Dean could feel the intensity of his brother's question, but could not understand why it was so important to Sam. He was the one who needed to do it, after all. "Whatever they need, Sammy. Heck, you were there at the motel."

Dean watched comprehension dawn on his little brother as he scooped up a forkful of egg. He chewed, watching Sam's internal struggle. "So…those people? The couple at the motel? That was one of your jobs?"

"Like you said," Dean replied, attacking more egg, "I guess I'm pretty good at it."

He chewed slowly, waiting for the inevitable. It came. "How can I help?"

Dean looked up, frowning. "How's that?"

Sam pushed some egg around on his plate. "I want to help." Those warm eyes a puppy would envy centered on him. "How do you know what you need to do?"

Dean shoveled some egg into his mouth, to give himself a little time to answer. He did not really have a good answer for that, he was still trying to understand it himself. He swallowed, knowing Sam would not wait forever. "I'm not sure, I just kind of know. You know how sometimes when someone breaks down on the side of the road and they don't have a cell phone and no one is expecting them anywhere so the fact they're late isn't noticed?" Dean waited for his brother to nod before continuing. "Then somebody just pulls up and happens to have exactly what that person needs to get up and running again?"

Sam nodded slowly. "I've heard of that."

Dean had the distinct impression Sam had more than just 'heard' of that, but he did not comment on it. There seemed to be no need. "Well, I guess that's what I'm supposed to do."

"I can help," Sam reiterated. "Like at the motel." His brother gave a quick nod before diving into breakfast. Dean watched Sam warily, wondering how exactly his brother thought he could help. "Just back you up," Sam said. "And I'll back off when you say."

"Oh, really?" Dean chuckled. "That'll be a new experience." He relished the dirty look Sam shot him.

Their waitress, Sheryl, returned. She folded their check and set it in the middle of the table, a little white tent between remnants of eggs and toast crumbs. "Take care of that when ya're ready."

A bright line shot out from her midsection, through the wall. Dean followed it with his eyes. At the other end was a girl, fairly cute except for the fact her face was streaked with tears. A nonphysical part of him reached out to the girl, sensed her homesickness and a tremendous amount of fear. It was the intensity of the fear that got Dean.

"Sheryl?" Dean tore his eyes away from the girl to look at their waitress. "How's that daughter of yours?"

Her face darkened. "How do you know about Denise?"

"We were in here not too long ago," Sam said quickly. "You told us about her."

"Oh." She relaxed a little. "Fine, I guess. I haven't heard from her in a couple of weeks. I'm sure if she needed anything, she'd call."

"Really?" Dean pulled out his cell. "You know how stubborn kids can be. Let's give her a call. Here," he handed it over to Sheryl. "Call her." Sheryl stared at him. He smiled. "Tell her I said hi."

Sheryl punched the buttons on his phone with shaking fingers. He exchanged a meaningful look with Sam. There was definitely something going on, he knew it. Sam knew it now, too.

"Denise? Hey, it's Mom. I was just talking about you and…" Sheryl's voice trailed off. "Baby, what's wrong?" The color drained from her face. "Honey, honey, listen to me. You listenin' to Mama? Listen now. You're coming home, right now. You hear me? No, no, you need to come home. I'm going to go buy your plane ticket right now, and it'll be waiting at the airport for you. Baby, you just go pack a bag and come on home, we'll worry about everything else later, okay? Yes, I'm at work. You can call me here, just go get on that plane." She wiped away a tear. "Okay, honey, I'll see you soon."

Sheryl handed back the phone. "I need to go buy a plane ticket."

"Check with airline-discounts-dot-com. I think they're running a special," Dean suggested, wondering where in the hell that one came from. Maybe he should have looked away when Mike challenged him?

After Sheryl left, less shaky and more determined, Sam leaned in. "What was all that about?"

Dean dropped his voice. "Her daughter is pregnant and freaking out. Didn't know how to tell her."

"I meant the website," Sam replied.

Dean ran a hand over his short hair. "I'm not really sure. That was a first."

"Okay." Sam stood, heading outside. Dean moved to follow, but he had the distinct impression that his brother would be right back. As he waited, he noticed Sheryl holding an animated conversation with a woman in the back, probably her manager, then Sheryl disappeared into the office. No new, bright lines appeared, much to his relief. Not that he minded helping people, but they needed to get to Seattle before that spirit attacked anyone else.

Sam returned clutching a legal pad. Dean tried not to groan. Sam shoved their dirty plates to the side and wiped down the table with a few napkins before setting the pad down. "Okay," Sam said authoritatively, "let's make a list. First, the eyes. Then, what? You could read my thoughts and emotions, right? Oh," Sam waved his pen, "and the grocery store thing. I doubt I'll ever forget that."

Dean glared at his brother. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Sam replied with a wave of his free hand. "What happened after that? You started leaving angel tracks. What else were you doing at the motel that night, other than the fighting couple?"

Dean's eyes slid down to Sam's list. Angel tracks? What the hell was that? He pointed out that item on Sam's list. "Sammy? Something you want to tell me?"

"Oh, uh," color flushed high on Sam's cheekbones, "you and Mike kind of leave tracks. I can see them. He didn't seem too happy about it, either."

"Then it's a good thing," Dean decided. "Put a star next to that one."

Sam chuckled as he did it. "What else happened at the motel?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Connections." Sam just looked at him, not getting it. He lowered his voice. "I can see the connections between people."

Sam added it to the list. "Okay, how?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "How the hell should I know? It just happens."

"Fine, Dean, fine. But what do you see?" Sam persisted.

"Lines. Bright lines of light, connecting people." He shrugged, leaning back and picking up his almost empty cup of coffee. Swallowing the last of it, he knew Sam waited for more explanation. "If I follow the lines, I can see the people on the other end, too."

Sam's eyebrows disappeared behind those shaggy bangs. "You see the other people?" he whispered, leaning across the table. "As in, see them – see them?"

"Yes, Sam!" Dean hissed back, feeling both annoyed and ashamed, which was kind of weird. Why should he feel ashamed? Maybe because it was an invasion of privacy? Well, yeah, there was that, he had to admit.

"How?" Sam asked, pen poised above his legal pad. "Ghost-like images, or like you're watching a commercial break in reality, or more like you're really there?"

Dean could not believe how calm his brother sounded. Or felt, for that matter. Sam was not freaked out, period. Pretty strange considering how much it freaked him out. "More like I'm really there."

Sam nodded, head bowing down as he added a new item to the list. "Okay, what other jobs did you do at the motel?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, there was this guy whose wife hadn't called. I talked to him for a minute about how unreliable cell phone coverage was in some areas until I managed to get her to remember to call him. Then there was," he cleared his throat, looking away, "the baby."

"Okay, right. How did you get the wife to remember? She wasn't there, the husband was, right?" Sam asked, glancing up from the legal pad.

Dean took a few bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table. "We can go now. I guess Denise is headed for the airport." He stood and left Sam with his stupid list. What the hell did Sam expect to accomplish with some damn list anyway? Besides, he felt like an idiot talking about it; it all seemed just so surreal.

"Dean!" Sam shouted from the door as he reached the car. "Hang on!" He heard his brother's running steps as he opened the driver's side door. Sam really shouldn't run like that with his bum knee. As the thought crossed his mind, Sam slowed to a fast walk. "Happy?" Sam asked as he approached the car.

"Ecstatic," Dean grumbled, lowering himself into the driver's seat.

"Look," Sam's door slammed shut, with just a touch too much force, "I'm sorry if my list is pissing you off, but I think it's something we need to do." Sam turned that glare on him again.

"Why, Sam? Let's just go do the Seattle job." Dean backed out of their parking space, heading for Washington State. Sam simmered in the seat beside him.

"Because it helps me understand," Sam said suddenly, after a good twenty minutes of silent brooding.

"Understand what?" All Dean could sense right now was his brother's extreme irritation, and it was all his fault. That did not make it any easier.

A loud Sammy huff filled the car. "I am trying to understand what's happening to you, to us." Big ol' Sam hands filled the space between them, motioning forcefully. "What's wrong with that?"

Dean ground his teeth. Okay, so technically there wasn't anything terribly wrong with that, except that it annoyed him beyond belief. "A list, Sam?"

Sam held up the legal pad. "What's wrong with a list? I make lists all the time. It's a study technique."

Dean rolled his eyes. Well, that certainly explained it. No wonder he found lists so annoying. "Fine," Dean sighed. "What else do you need for your stupid list?"

He could actually feel Sam's grin, though his brother tried to hide it. "Okay, you explained the couple and the guy waiting for the phone call, and the waitress and her daughter. There was a lost dog at the restaurant, too, right? You had to return it to some kid?" Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Maybe Sam forgot about… "What were you saying about a baby?"

Damn.

Dean cleared his throat, shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "It was nothing." Well, that was true, it was nothing. Technically air was nothing. A gas bubble was air. It wasn't like the kid would have died from a little gas bubble, just made his parents horribly anxious and possibly kept them up for hours.

"What kind of nothing, Dean?"

Like a dog with a bone, he thought, grinding his teeth. "Gas. The kid had some gas, okay. Like I said, it was nothing."

He felt Sam's eyes on him, staring in utter disbelief. "Your job was to burp a baby?"

"You know, it just sounds stupid when you say it like that," Dean snapped.

"All right, all right," Sam held both hands up. "But why? I mean, the parents weren't freaked out over a little gas, were they?"

Dean shrugged. There did not seem to be a need to admit to that. If he had been the father he certainly would not want anyone to know he was freaked out over his kid having some stupid gas. Babies got gas, it was all part of the natural order of things. He heard the scratch of pen on paper beside him.

"Dean, I think I got it." Sam motioned down to his list. "You have to help people who are totally, possibly irrationally, freaking out over their situation. That explains the baby, but you were actually helping the parents, the guy whose wife forgot to call, the couple fighting, the kid with the runaway dog, and the waitress' daughter."

Sam sounded real proud of himself. "But why?" Dean asked, slightly surprised to hear himself voice the thought aloud. "Why would I need to help people who are freaking out? There are other people I could help too."

He felt Sam shrug, still hunched over the notepad. "Maybe that's someone else's job."

"Great," he breathed out. "I always get stuck with the people losing it."

"That's why!" Sam pointed a triumphant finger in his direction. "Because it's something you're already doing and you're good at it."

Dean waved it off, without taking his eyes off the road. Not going to risk his baby again, they were lucky last time. "That's silly, Sam. Dealing with people like that isn't something I'm good at. You are."

"Dean!" Sam huffed, collapsing against the seat. "Seriously, dude, you never give yourself enough credit. Unless single, slutty women are involved."

Dean laughed. "They don't have to be single." But Sam's irritation worked its way up his spine, spoiling his joke. Not that it was much of a joke in the first place. "Oh, now what?"

"Dean, why wouldn't you think you're good at something other than taking care of ghosts or women?" Sam demanded, and that irritation coiled around his spine flared.

Dean winced, involuntarily jerking the wheel to one side as pain flared up from his spine and down his arm.

"Dean!" He leaned back so Sam could surge over, grab the wheel. Dean pressed down slowly on the brake, slowing the car as Sam steered them off the road. He pressed his right arm against his side, eyes closed against the searing pain. This was even worse than his back usually felt after sleeping out on the ground all night.

"Stop the car." Sam's voice was calmer now. Dean pushed the brake all the way down, still clutching his arm. He felt Sam put the car into park then rest back against the passenger seat. "Dean? What happened?"

Dean shook his head, talking was really not an option now. The pain flared again, searing flames from his fingertips, up his arm and across his shoulder. A second searing pain shot through his shoulder like lightning, down his arm. Somehow the two seemed to cancel each other out. Taking a deep breath of relief, Dean cracked his eyes open. Sam's twin pools of worry and concern hovered so close Dean could smell breakfast on his brother's breath.

"Back off, dude," Dean tried to snap, but it came out weak and watered-down.

"Is it better now?" Sam demanded, eyes radiating intensity.

Dean nodded, flexing his arm. It felt almost normal now. "What the hell was that?" he whispered, feeling completely drained.

"No idea," Sam replied. "Fortunately I was able to stop it before it could spread any further."

"Stop it?" Dean asked, rubbing his shoulder. "How?"

Sam grinned, snapping his fingers. Sparks flew from Sam's fingertips and Dean's eyes grew wide. "You didn't?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Sam asked, grasping his shoulder.

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're not going to make it to Seattle, are we?"

"Yes, we are. I'm driving." Sam got out, walked around the car. He opened the driver's side door. "Move over."

Dean sighed, sliding over slowly. His whole body ached, lingering tingles from Sam's electric shock. As the Impala pulled back onto the state highway, Dean allowed the familiar vibrations to sooth his nerves and muscles. He leaned back into the seat, familiar scents of leather and Sam and greasy take-out food filling his nostrils. Warm sunlight shone through the windshield, warming him and easing the aches in his body. He closed his eyes, feeling safe and secure, allowing the road noise to lull him to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks again to you oddballs following this flight of oddball fantasy! Hope this installment fulfills that oddball craving you clearly have.

**Chapter 9**

Sam kept his brother's music on, though at a lower than normal level, while Dean slept. He wondered if they should stop soon, it was past lunch and neither of them had eaten. Dean looked so frail and weak when he fell asleep, it rocked Sam into a state of high alarm and anxiety. Fortunately, he was getting pretty good at those walls lately, so he did not think Dean knew.

This highway was desolate except for the trees, but Sam figured they should come on some civilization pretty soon. Then they would find lunch.

That thing that happened to Dean, that was weird. It was beyond weird, and plagued his thoughts as he drove. What were they talking about when it hit? Sam tried to replay the conversation in his mind. Oh yes, they were talking about Dean not giving himself enough credit, and then it struck. Sam had felt a phantom pain in his own shoulder and arm, not nearly as intense as Dean's but enough so he understood what was happening. After he managed to drive them off the road and put the car in park, no mean feat with Dean still in the driver's seat, the answer came to him with startling clarity as Dean gritted his teeth against a fresh wave of pain. Sam shocked his own brother.

Not in a million years did he think that might be a possibility, especially with Dean's heart attack still so fresh in his mind despite the fact it happened several years ago. But he did it, he sent an electric shock through his brother's arm, mentally targeting the pain coiling through Dean's nerves. What surprised him the most was that it worked. Sam had the distinct feeling if he had not done anything, it would have escalated beyond what even Dean could tolerate.

Sam glanced at his sleeping brother. Dean's right arm curled around his stomach with his left hand clutching his right bicep, as though waiting for the pain to return. However, his brother's face was smooth and relaxed for a change, as though nothing could bother him. Sam found himself wishing they could feel like that all the time. How strange, now that they both had "abilities" that they still worried so much and so many things still seemed to go wrong. Could the abilities be making it even worse, he wondered as the car came up on a road sign. There was a town up ahead, they could stop for food.

"Food?" Dean asked, stirring in the seat.

"There's a town coming up," Sam replied, "we can stop for lunch if you like."

Dean stretched and yawned, though Sam noticed his brother did not move that right arm too much. "Sounds good," he rumbled, sounding like his usual self. Sam glanced over again, checking that his brother looked as good as he sounded. He did. Dean's color was good and his face relaxed, though not as much as in sleep.

Sam wanted to ask what happened, where the pain came from, but he suspected Dean knew about as much as he did – nothing. A few buildings were visible ahead, in a clearing of the trees. Were they in some national forest or something?

"State park," Dean said. "Let's try that burger place."

Sam squinted against the sun, trying to see what Dean was referring to. A questioning glance showed him Dean's eyes glowing a little bright for daytime. "Where?" he asked.

"A mile and a half up ahead," Dean motioned through the windshield, closing his eyes again. "Wake me when we get there."

"Dean?" Sam cleared his throat. Dean could be a little touchy sometimes. "I noticed that your eyes seem kinda bright."

Dean snorted. "How do you think I saw the burger joint?"

"What?" Sam's head whirled around of its own accord, he had to force it back to watch the road. "What do you mean?"

"Watch it or you'll pass it."

Sam slammed on the brakes as the restaurant threatened to pass by, fishtailing into the parking lot. Feeling more than a little sheepish, he parked carefully, cautiously. When the car came to a full and complete stop, and Sam shut the motor off, Dean opened his eyes.

"Good thing I didn't see that," Dean said, reaching for the door handle, "or I might have to ban you from driving."

Sam followed his brother without comment, he deserved that crack. They took a table by the window, where Dean could keep one eye on the car. The moment they finished ordering Sam noticed someone walk in.

"Uh-oh." Sam's eyes were riveted on the man approaching their table.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him before turning around. "Oh, shit."

"Dean?" Mike rushed to their table. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Dean growled. Sam noticed that irritated haze around his brother again. When he looked up at Mike, he was surprised that Mike looked upset, even anxious.

"We were pretty worried," Mike said, sitting in the chair next to Sam. "You sure you're okay?"

Sam exchanged a significant look with Dean. "You were worried?" Sam asked. "Why would you be worried?"

Mike ignored him, focusing on Dean. Well, that was a first. "What happened?" he asked. "What came after you?"

Dean's eyes widened a little as he shot Sam another look. "Nothing," he replied with a shrug. "Anything come after you?"

Their waitress returned with their drinks. Dean seemed relieved by the interruption, sipping his cola as he evaluated Mike over the rim of the glass. Sam left his drink untouched, reluctant to take his eyes off this scene for a moment.

The instant the waitress walked away, Mike leaned on the table, getting as close to Dean as he could. "But something attacked you!"

"Sorry," Sam interrupted, "but I didn't have much choice."

"Not that!" Mike snapped, his eyes flaring blue. "The first thing!"

Dean's arms crossed over his chest. "And how the hell would you know about that?"

Mike glared back. "We're keeping tabs on you, that's how."

"So why didn't you show up to help?" Sam demanded. "I had no idea if shocking him was going to work." Not to mention the fact he had been scared to death of triggering a heart attack.

Mike ran both hands through his wild hair, which made Sam think of controlled randomness. "I was unavoidably detained," Mike finally said as his left hand came up to rub at his right arm.

Sam looked between his brother and Mike. Where Dean appeared irritated and confused, Mike was simply bewildered. Then it hit him, he understood. "It got you, too," Sam said, and both sets of eyes turned to him. "You couldn't come, could you?"

Mike sighed deeply, a lonely, solitary sound. He leaned back in the chair, left hand gripping his right arm as he shook his head.

"You mean, it happened to both of us?" Dean asked. Sam saw his brother's confusion as a halo of fluctuating colors surrounding Dean's head. These visible emotions were starting to make him wonder if this was what an acid trip was like, and if so, why anybody would do that voluntarily. It was creepy.

Mike cleared his throat. "You're part of a community now, Dean. I guess you could say, we feel each other's pain."

"And how often are angels in pain, Michael?" Sam asked. He had a feeling he knew the answer already, but he wanted it confirmed.

Mike shrugged, looking away. Sam nearly laughed at the sight. When it came to avoidance, Mike was the amateur.

"Have you ever felt pain before, Michael?" he asked softly, trying to catch Mike's eye.

"Not like that," Mike admitted, cradling his right arm as though it might return any moment. "What was it?"

"Michael, do your emotions ever take physical form?" Sam asked, feeling the heat of Dean's glare. He ignored his brother. If he was right this could potentially be really, really bad.

"Sure," Mike replied. "You do remember the tree, don't you?"

Sam frowned. What tree? Mike never did anything to a tree that he could recall. Unless Mike referred to something Dean did, in which case the only tree would be the one…struck…by lightning. "Dean did that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "The lightning?"

Mike nodded looking confused, his eyes darting between Sam and Dean. Sam glared at Dean. "Then I have a pretty good idea what happened."

Dean did that thing with his head, that half-tilt half-roll which meant 'get on with it already.'

Sam took a deep breath. "Your emotions," he pointed at Mike, "take physical form. Since Dean won that stupid stare-down contest you started, he has been taking on your characteristics. So now Dean's emotions can take physical form as well. I am right so far?" Sam waited for a confirmation from Mike before continuing. Dean still had that mildly confused look, which meant his brother honestly had no idea where he was going with this, though Sam thought it obvious.

"Okay. So the pain, the thing that attacked Dean, was Dean." Sam explained. By the twin blank expressions he knew they still didn't get it. Sam cleared his throat, not really wanting to expose an issue they never admitted Dean had in the first place. "Dean has a few issues with, ah, self-esteem."

"No I don't!" Dean snapped, eyes flaring bright green for an instant. "Wait a minute. It wasn't me." The hazel-green eyes that looked after him his entire life focused on him now. "It was you. You were annoyed because I said I wasn't good at it. That's when it hit me." Real emotion crossed Dean's face, open and honest. "You were really annoyed. I could feel it, Sam."

"He shouldn't be able to do that," Mike said. "I need to go."

"No." Dean locked eyes with Mike, who stared back for the first time since losing the stare-down. "Don't even think about it, Mike."

"Dean, he's a danger to all of us now," Mike replied, and actually bothered to look pained by it.

Sam watched the exchange, the information only now sinking in. "Wait. What? No, I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't. I couldn't."

"Now this is just a guess, but I'd say that's why you were able to stop it." Mike said, his voice hard and dangerous.

"I didn't." Sam insisted. "I mean, yes I stopped it, but I'm sure I didn't start it."

"He's right," Dean said, still staring at Mike. "Isn't he, Mike?"

"Dean, this isn't just…" Mike broke off, sitting back and staring at the two of them. "You both looked annoyed." His eyes darted back and forth. "You two don't…" His hand motioned between them.

"Don't what?" Dean growled. Honestly, Sam thought his brother would be used to the innuendos by now.

"Share emotions?" Mike asked softly.

"What's it to you?" Dean snapped, and Sam's annoyance level with Mike rose instantly.

"How long?" Mike demanded as the waitress headed back toward their table. Mike waved her away and she suddenly turned to another table. "Dean! How long?"

Sam had the sudden desire to leave. These questions were so stupid and pointless. None if it mattered anyway. He jumped to his feet, pulling out his wallet to pay for their drinks. They could find another place to grab some lunch. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Mike reach for Dean. His hand flashed out to stop Mike, to protect his brother, but it never reached its target.

* * *

Sam froze, right in front of his eyes. Dean, now beyond irritated and well on his way to pissed off, leaned into Mike's face. "What did you do to my brother?"

"Nothing, Dean," Mike replied with a weary sigh. "Don't you recognize it?"

Dean looked around. Everyone in the place was frozen like Sam. "What the hell did you stop time for again?"

Mike ran both hands over his face. "Because I need to talk to you. Just you. We can't allow this, Dean. It isn't safe."

"Allow what?" Dean snapped. "Because if you even think about going after my brother, I'll make Lucifer look like he should still be up there." He jabbed a thumb skyward.

"Actually, I wish you'd been there. I doubt the fight would have been nearly as close as it was." Mike shook himself. "But that's not the point, Dean. Sam is dangerous. If you're sharing emotions, then his emotions can take on physical form as well, like today." Mike's left hand massaged his right arm again. Dean suspected Mike did not even know he was doing it.

"But it was my fault!" Dean's anger seethed. "Sam's right about that. There are things I shouldn't argue about with him."

One of Mike's perfectly formed eyebrows lifted. "Like whether or not you're doing the job you're best suited for?"

"I hate it when you do that." Dean glared at him.

"I know, but that's what you meant, isn't it?" Mike asked, just as cool and calm as he was when he stopped time back in that bar.

Dean glanced down at the table, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. "I guess." He shrugged.

"Dean, you're the first human to ever get the best of me. I'm confident you'll get the hang of these new responsibilities. But I really don't know what to do about Sam." Mike hugged his right arm against his side. "And I don't want to go through that again."

"We'll do our best to make sure it doesn't happen again," Dean promised. "But even if it does, you'll have to go through me to get to Sam."

Mike studied him for a moment before giving him a slow nod. "Then let's hope it doesn't come to that. I'll still have to tell the others what happened."

"Whatever," Dean replied with a wave as he sat back down. "Now get out of here, we're hungry."

As Mike walked out, time picked back up. When Mike reached the front door, time was at normal speed again.

"Aren't we leaving?" Sam demanded. Dean felt Sam's confusion over the sudden loss of emotion and knew his brother sounded angrier than he actually felt.

"Nah. Mike left." He picked up his menu. "I think I'll try a burger. How about you?"

Sam sat slowly, staring around. "So what happened?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing. You eating or what?"


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks again for the oddballs who really seem to be enjoying this! Fellow oddballs - unite!!

**Chapter 10**

Sam slid back into his seat, staring at his brother. Dean's emotions were on full lock-down now, so he had no idea what just happened. "I missed something, didn't I?"

Dean refused to look him in the eye, confirming that Sam did miss something. Apparently it was something pretty important, too, judging by the level of Dean's avoidance.

"Dean?" Sam took the menu out of his brother's hands to set on the table. "What happened to Mike?"

"He left." From the tone of Dean's voice, it couldn't have been a moment too soon, either. Sam noticed the irritated haze around Dean was back, only it was darker this time and seemed to hover tightly, like Dean was trying to suppress it.

"I thought you said he didn't like to pull the disappearing act?" Sam asked, completely bewildered. He had been ready to storm off, but now felt somewhat annoyed and hungry. Really hungry. He read Dean's menu upside down while he waited for his brother to answer.

"That's what he said last time," Dean replied, shrugging. "Guess he lied."

"Nope," Sam stated matter-of-factly. "That's the reason you can't lie, because they can't."

"You fellas ready now?" Their gum-snapping waitress returned, removing a stained pencil from behind one ear. Sam wondered if that was an indication of how sanitary the kitchen was. Well, whatever didn't kill you…

"Bacon cheeseburger with fries," Dean replied, looking up. His face lit up and he winked. "Unless you'd rather sneak off to a back room?"

Sam sighed, hanging his head in utter shame. Why did Dean have to be such a flirt all the time? It's not like he could be… Sam's head snapped back up. Dean was serious, he had to be. After all, Dean couldn't lie, could he?

Their waitress laughed and flipped her hair back behind one ear. "Honey, you just made my day. Tell you what, you survive our monster cheeseburger and I'll consider it." She looked at him. "And you?"

Sam, once again floored by big brother, managed to stammer, "The same." She laughed again, shaking her head and Dean joined her. Oh god, did he just proposition her too? He felt heat seep into his cheeks. Please, don't let her think he was proposing a three-way. Just thinking about it made him shudder. "Uh, cheeseburger, I mean." He dropped his head onto his arms, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

"Psst! She's gone, Sam."

Sam managed to dredge his head up from the table surface, heat radiating off his face. He could only imagine what Dean thought now. Actually, he didn't have to imagine it, Dean was not hiding his emotions now as his brother chuckled and smirked at him. Sam could feel the hilarity coming off his brother in strengthening waves.

"So did I look like just a huge freaking idiot or what?" Sam asked, resigned to another round of major teasing.

"Pretty much." Dean's grin was infectious. Sam found he could not maintain his current mood in the face of it. Or was that the empathy thing? At any rate, a stupid grin seeped into his face and he could not feel annoyed or even horribly embarrassed like he should.

"Great." Sam leaned back in his chair, running both hands over his face. "I'm an idiot." He waited for Dean to say something, but his brother just sipped at his cola. "Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

Dean shook his head. "You seem to be doing just fine there, Sammy." He grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I was afraid of that." He leaned forward on the table. "Did you set me up?"

Dean laughed then, a real laugh that resounded through the small restaurant. "Nah, I wish." He pushed the water stained cutlery on the table around a little. "She just needed a little pick-me-up." Dean shrugged. "How was I supposed to know you'd turn into more of a doofus than you already are?" That lopsided grin covered Dean's face again.

"Pick-me-up?" Sam blinked a few times, processing that. His voice dropped to a whisper. "She's one of your jobs?"

"Well, I figured as long as we were passing by," Dean shrugged.

Sam sighed. "This is going to take some getting used to."

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean snorted, still amused.

Sam suspected now that Dean was forcing himself to feel amused, because he was covering something else up. But what? "Dean, what happened with Mike?"

"I told you, Sam," Dean's eyes glowed as he glared at Sam, the smile gone, "drop it." It reminded Sam of Dean in the bar, facing those big guys down. A chill ran down his spine.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Sam dropped it.

For now.

* * *

Dean's relief at still being able to flirt was palatable. He guessed that meant flirting was not lying, especially if you were willing to follow through. He was almost always willing to follow through. Check that. Always willing.

Dean winked and smiled at the waitress as she delivered their cheeseburgers. He considered making a comment about Sam's botched order, but he didn't. Sam just might be easier to live with if he let it slide. You know, for now. Later? Hey, something like that could come in really handy later for throwing in Sam's face.

She gave him a flirtatious smile as she headed away from their table. Oh yeah, he still had it. He worked really hard to put all thoughts of Mike out of his mind, in case Sam might pick up on it. The blocking thing, he had no idea how Sam did that, but he was a master of suppression. Hell, half his childhood was a freaking blank because he really, really did not want to remember it: nights Dad came home covered in blood or stinking drunk or both, huge fights between Sam and Dad, times where he desperately tried to keep the peace but his family acted like he was not even there. Yep, all that crap was stuffed way down deep, so far he rarely remembered he was not remembering it.

Dean paused in his chewing. What the hell? He swallowed hard, half-chewed burger thick in his throat. Sam and Dad acted like he wasn't even in the room? When did that happen?

With a blink, Dean saw the interior of a crappy apartment. Sam sat on a couch Dean rescued from beside a dumpster reading some English assignment. Dean had a couple of weapons completely disassembled, pieces spread carefully on a green cloth on the floor. He was about eighteen years old, right out of high school, and meticulously oiling and cleaning each piece. Dad walked in, filthy from being out hunting something for nearly a week, clothes torn. Dean leaped to his feet, expecting the customary demand for a hug, but Dad swept through the room with barely a glance at either of them.

Sam snorted in obvious disgust.

"Don't start, Sammy. He's probably just tired," Dean warned, foreseeing trouble.

"It's Sam," his brother replied automatically, but without the usual hostility. Sam closed his book and set it aside. "Let's see how long it takes before he starts yelling." Sam peered down at his watch.

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "I said don't start."

Sam ignored him, concentrating on his watch. Feeling distinctly uneasy, Dean decided maybe now was not the right time to be tending to his favorite weapons. He was still packing things up when Dad burst back into the room.

"Dean! Dean!" Dean shook, eyes squeezed shut, preparing himself for the huge argument coming. He vaguely recalled it had something to do with literature and the fact brain cells could be wasted on math. "Dean!"

The shaking seemed to come from his shoulders. "Damn it, Dean! What happened?"

Head spinning, Dean managed to pry his eyes open. Sam, full grown adult Sam, stood over him. Sam's eyes were wide with – fear?

Dean blinked up a few times, like he was looking in a light that was too bright. "What?" he finally managed to ask.

Sam's breathing was a little heavy, like his brother had been running or something. "You okay? What happened?"

Dean glanced around. They were in that tiny restaurant just off the state highway, his cheeseburger cooling on the table. He pushed it away. "That was weird."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Weird?" his brother whispered, voice low. "Weird as in our kind of weird?"

Dean shook his head. "As in weird – weird." He ran a hand over his face only to discover it was shaking. Clenching it into a fist solved that problem. "Just weird. Finish eating, I want to get the hell out of here."

Sam jumped out of his chair. "Fine, let's roll."

Dean started to argue, to tell Sam to eat some more, but he really wanted to leave. Really, really wanted it. It was like some primal force was pushing him to get in the car and drive just as fast as he could. Dean threw some bills down on the table, plenty to cover the meal and a generous tip, before heading out the door.

When he reached the car, Dean noticed Sam was right on his heels and looked about as freaked as he felt. God, he hated what was happening to them, but there was no time to dwell on that now. They had to leave. Dean slid behind the wheel, waiting only long enough for Sam to close his door before backing out. He shifted into drive, leaving a patch of rubber in the parking lot to commemorate how he felt about this place as he sped toward Seattle.

"How much longer do you think, Sam?" Dean asked after he could breathe properly again.

"Not sure," Sam replied. "Couldn't be too much longer, could it?"

Dean shook his head. He really had no idea how long it would take to get there. It could be days or seconds for all he knew. However, he knew their exact coordinates in about three different mapping systems without thinking about it, felt irresistible pulls in the direction of people who needed his help, and could see in the freaking dark, thank you very much. As if their whole childhoods weren't already just as screwed up as you could get, now they had this.

Suddenly he felt calmer, more rational. Dean felt his heart begin to beat normally and his breathing was no longer something he had to think about to control. Once he allowed it to fully wash over him, cleansing the panic from earlier, Dean realized what it was.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"It worked?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, it worked," Dean replied, unsure if he should be annoyed or relieved. "What did you do?"

He felt the weight of Sam's gaze. "You'll just get mad at me if I tell you."

He wanted to argue, but he had the distinct feeling that Sam was right. "Fine," he reluctantly conceded.

"What happened?" Sam asked a few miles later. "In the restaurant? It was like you were, I don't know, catatonic or something."

Dean frowned at the road in front of them. "I'm not too sure," he admitted, "but I think it was a memory."

"Of what?" Sam asked. Dean figured his brother was trying to sound casual, but years of demanding and whining had pretty much put 'casual' out of Sam's reach.

"You don't want to hear it." There, he said it. It was the truth. It wasn't like he could lie about that anyway.

That pang of guilt from Sam was becoming pretty routine these days. "Yes, I do, Dean. Just tell me." Sam turned in the seat to face him, but Dean kept his eyes on the road. No way was he risking his baby again. "And I want to know what happened with Mike."

He just shook his head, shoving all that emo crap deep, deep, deep down where even that digger guy from the movie about the mediocre superheroes wouldn't be able to get to it. Truth or silence, Mike said. Fine. This time it was going to be silence.


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, it's been a while, but here's the new chapter as promised!

**Chapter 11**

Sam sighed in frustration. He just thought Dean was on emotional lock-down before. Compared with now, that was sharing and caring. He could barely sense Dean's presence right now, and his brother was in the same freaking car.

Watching the blur of trees out of the window, Sam tried to think about what might cause super-over-protective-big-brother to come out in force like this. Typically, it was to protect Sam from something. Considering the point at which Mike disappeared and how disgruntled Dean was, that was very possible.

Sam thought back to the moment that weird pain struck Dean. He really could not testify on Dean's emotions at that time, which was kind of weird, but he should know how he felt. He was annoyed and angry, both at his brother and about him. So Dean was probably annoyed with him, too. Sam rubbed his forehead, trying to ward off another headache. This circular thinking was getting him nowhere.

"You're going to shoot me if I start another list, aren't you?" Sam asked, wondering where he put his legal pad. Dean did not answer, not that he really expected anything at this point.

Full-lockdown-Dean was frightening. Sam wondered if he could jar his brother out of this mood. Figuring that for a lost cause, Sam reached over into the backseat, looking for his pad. At least Dean threatening to shoot him would break this heavy silence in the car. After finding his legal pad, Sam starting making notes about what he remembered of the attack on Dean in the car and the conversation with Mike.

"Oh, God," he breathed out, reading over his notes. "It was me, wasn't it?"

"What?" It was the first thing Dean said in hours.

"The thing that happened to you. It was me?" Sam asked, forcing himself to face his brother.

Dean made a scoffing noise. "It was my fault."

"How?" Sam demanded. Of the stupid, idiotic things for Dean to say…and believe. "Dean, if it was my fault, then it was my fault. I just need to know what I did so it won't happen again."

Dean shook his head, staring out at the asphalt. Ever since Dean drove his car off the road, Sam noticed his brother refused to even glance his way. It was kind of overcompensating, but Dean did tend to do that. With everything he really cared about. Sam glanced over his notes again. Damn it.

"Dean, we have to be able to talk, to argue," Sam tried, shooting his brother a pleading look that Dean might never see. Dean's head shook minutely. "At least pull over somewhere so I can talk to you face to face." He felt the Impala speed up. "Don't make me mad here, Dean."

Now Dean did shoot him a worried look, confirming Sam's fears. "Relax, Sam. At least let's hit Washington State first. We're only a hundred miles from the state line."

Sam leaned over to look at the speedometer. "So that puts us there in a little over an hour, huh?"

Dean shrugged. "If you say so."

"Well, considering you're doing eighty miles an hour, and the state line is a hundred miles away," Sam said with a shrug. "How do you know where the state line is, Dean? All I've seen are signs for how far the next couple of towns are."

Dean shrugged again, not saying anything. Sam sighed, sinking further into his seat. Silent Dean was a pain in the ass. He almost preferred hearing his brother talking about the latest sexual conquest. That thought had him smirking. It wasn't like Dean would be spinning any tales about being a producer or magazine editor to get some drunken girl naked.

He passed the hour to cross the state line making more notes. By the time Dean pulled into a diner parking lot, Sam had himself convinced that the thing attacking Dean was him. It probably had to do with the demon blood in him. They were not a good team anymore, the very basis of their abilities were at odds with one another and his were attacking his brother without his knowledge or consent.

"That's not it, Sam," Dean sighed, shifting the car into park. Dean turned slightly in his seat. "I told you, it wasn't your fault."

"But it was because I was mad at you, right?" Sam demanded. "That was my anger, _my anger_, that attacked you!"

Dean gave him a slow, reluctant nod. "But it was because I was still being too open with you, Sammy," he said slowly. "I have to learn to filter you out, like you block me out."

The words stung, but maybe they needed to. "I don't understand."

Dean shook his head. "Hell, Sam, I don't understand any of this!"

Thunder rolled in the distance. Sam glanced out the window, but there was not a cloud in the sky.

"I mean, how much more screwed can we get!" Another roll of thunder. Sam did not bother looking for the source this time.

Sam tried that calming technique that worked before. It was stupid, which was why he didn't want to tell Dean. He thought of Dad coming home after a hunt and how happy they would be, how relaxed everything would become. When he was a kid, Dad coming home was a great time, but not just because Dad was home. It was more because suddenly Dean was happy and relaxed and they just knew that nothing bad could ever happen when Dad was home. He let that peaceful feeling of Dad Home flow through him and out to Dean. He hoped it worked; this diner did not need to be struck by lightning.

"Enough, Sam," Dean said quietly.

"Dean," Sam realized what they needed to do was painfully clear, "I'll understand if you want us to split up. I mean, obviously you can't trust me anymore…"

"What!" Lightning flashed across the sky. "Where the hell did that come from?" Dean pointed a finger at him. "Mike didn't come talk to you again, did he? I'll kick his ass."

Sam stared at his brother a moment. "Dean, you're talking about kicking the Archangel Michael's ass. Good luck on that one."

"Did he come talk to you?" Dean demanded.

Sam shook his head. "No, not since the motel parking lot, when I started seeing angel tracks."

He felt Dean's relief more than it showed on his brother's features. "So what's this splitting up and not trusting you crap?"

Sam fidgeted in his seat. "Well, the way I figure it, because our abilities are from two very different sources, which are basically at war, we're being driven to attack each other."

"Dude, did anyone ever tell you that you have a warped mind?" Dean asked, glaring at him. "That's not what happened."

"No? Then what did, Dean? Enlighten me." Sam drew his arms across his chest, waiting. He figured Dean would come up with something ridiculous.

"Fine." Dean closed his eyes. As Sam waited, his brother's brow furrowed and the skin around his eyes crinkled. The first hint he had that something might be happening was when the sunlight outside did not seem as bright. Sam peered out the front windshield as a thick fog rolled in. Frowning, Sam watched the fog creep toward them until he could not see the road. Then the fog broke, a shaft of light streaming through the darkness to illuminate them.

Dean opened his eyes. The fog was gone, like it had never been there. Sam gazed around, wondering what he just witnessed. "Dean?"

"It's a dark, scary world out there, Sammy," Dean said softly, "and it only has a few rays of sunshine."

"That…that's how you feel about the world?" Sam asked, hesitant to speak.

Dean gave him a slight shrug. "Pretty much. The thing is, Sammy, my emotions can cause…stuff…to happen. What do you think might happen if I shared emotions with someone else?"

Sam stared at his brother. "You're kidding." Dean did not respond. Feeling a little desperate, he asked, "Right?"

"It looks like I'm not the only one who needs to watch his emotions," Dean replied, his voice flat as he reached for the door handle. "At least until I learn how to screen them."

Sam stared after his brother, who let himself out of the car. He watched Dean disappear into the diner, not really knowing how he was supposed to feel about that. Empathy. Of all the freaky powers he could get, why did he have to be burdened with empathy?

Sam stepped out of the car, stretching in the afternoon sunlight. At first he thought the empathy was kind of a good thing, because it meant he could tell what his brother really felt about things. Later it was more of a nuisance. Regardless of how Dean might feel about a situation, his stubborn brother was going to do what he thought he had to do. Really, it just made some things more difficult. And now he knew just how screwed up his brother really was. Dean really believed he deserved all the bad things that Life threw at him, which was absurd. Yeah, empathy came from the Other Side, that was for sure.

* * *

"So how much longer until we hit Seattle?" Dean asked.

Sam reigned in any smart-ass comments. "How far are we?"

"Twenty five and a half miles," Dean replied instantly. Sam figured Dean was a human road map now. As if their lives weren't creepy enough all ready.

"How fast are you driving?" Sam asked patiently, keeping in mind that whole need to maintain control over his emotions.

Dean glanced down, as though he had a difficult time remembering that. "Sixty."

"Less than half an hour," Sam replied.

"Cool. Hungry?" Dean tapped his fingers against the wheel as he drove.

"Dean, we just ate like two hours ago." Sam stared at his brother. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Dude, if I wasn't, I wouldn't be hungry," Dean protested. "Now would I?"

Sam drummed his fingers on his knees. "No, I guess not."

"So why did you ask?" Dean even turned down the music. Oh, crap.

Sam shrugged even though he knew Dean would not look at him. "You just seem to be eating a lot. Or do your jobs seem to center on places to eat?"

"It's not about a job," Dean said. They rode in silence for a minute. "Okay, maybe there's a little job there."

"What are we talking about?" Sam asked. "Some personal crisis? Another lost dog?"

"You know," Dean's voice took on that patient tone, "you make it sound stupid."

"Well…" Sam hated to say this, but he felt he needed to. "It is stupid, Dean. I mean, I can't understand why you would have these powers, abilities, just to find lost dogs and burp babies. It's stupid! It – it – it's wasteful!"

"Wasteful?" Dean cleared his throat. Sam knew he crossed a line when his brother pulled off the road. Dean centered those green high-beams on him, and his eyes definitely had that glow. "Weren't you the one who prayed every day? Who insisted on believing in a higher power? In good being in the world to balance out the evil we see all the time?"

Sam nodded. "That's my point, Dean! This is wasting your new abilities. I really don't understand." He used his eyes to plead with his brother. He wanted to understand.

He expected Dean to lash out, to react angrily. Instead Dean slouched in the seat, thinking. "I don't really understand it either, Sammy. But I think it's important. I feel like it is." He expelled a breath, shaking his head. "I hope it is," he mumbled.

The last words dug deep, piercing Sam's conscience. "Dean, I didn't mean it like that."

Dean reached out, put his car back in drive. Sam pushed out with his mind and emotions, trying to find what his brother felt or thought now. Nothing. Damn it, he was shut out. "Dean?"

"I'll just be a minute, Sam," he said softly. "You can wait in the car."

Sam looked around. They were in the parking area of a small greasy diner. Dean got out of the car with a glance back and headed inside. Sam got out, stretched. He lounged against the car, wondering how often he would have to wait on Dean to do his new 'thing.'

"Could be quite a bit."

Sam rolled his eyes, not bothering to turn around. "Geez, Michael, now what?"

"Is that any way to talk to an archangel?" Michael asked.

Sam cast another gaze across the diner, looking for Dean, before turning around. "When he's being a pest? Yes. It is."

Michael frowned at him. "I take it you think your brother can protect you from me?"

"Protect me?" Sam wondered if insanity happened to angels, too. "Why would I need protection from you?"

Michael passed over the question with a wave of his hand. "Actually, I came to bring you good news. We think we can reverse what happened to Dean."

Sam stumbled back a step. "Why? I mean, you said he was doing a good job. Is it because it's a stupid job?"

Now Michael's eyes flared bright blue for a moment. "Stupid job? Morale?"

"Dean's not that big on morals," Sam pointed out quickly.

"Not morals," Michael snapped, gritting his teeth, "I said morale. You know, as in keeping people happy."

Sam mentally kicked himself for that one. Wasn't he supposed to have a good vocabulary? He decided to blame it on spending too much time with Dean and watching porn. Porn did not require much vocabulary. As a matter of fact, some of it didn't even require a script. Sam shook the base thoughts from his mind.

"What do you mean? Dean is your morale officer?" Sam asked, trying really hard not to imagine his brother inside chatting up a girl in a skimpy barmaid outfit. God, was he getting horny?

"Unless we can reverse what happened to him, yes," Michael replied.

"So why are you telling me? Why not just go tell Dean? I'm sure he'll do almost anything to…" Sam's voice trailed off. Sure, Dean would probably do almost anything to get out of this; almost being the key word. He had a funny feeling he knew why Michael approached him and not Dean. "He has to back down to you, right?"

Michael nodded.

Sam sighed, running fingers through his hair. "I'll talk to him, but that's all I can promise."

"Tell him it's the best alternative I could come up with," Michael said as he faded from sight, "that might help convince him."

Sam leaned back against the black fender. Convince Dean to back down to Michael? Man, why couldn't they just lay one of Hercules' labors on him? At least he'd know the answer to one of those.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

It took more effort than usual, but Dean managed to push his irritation away. How could Sam think that they needed to split up? He kicked at a rock in the parking lot, shoving his anger toward it. It shot out from under his foot, ricocheted off two cars scratching the paint and leaving dents, and imbedded into the wall of the diner. Damn. He took a deep breath before facing his brother in the parking lot, really hoping Sam hadn't noticed that. It would no doubt go on that stupid list.

Sam appeared distracted and worried. "Sam?"

His brother spun to face him, clearly startled. Dean glared around the parking area suspiciously. What did Sam say before, that he could see angel tracks? Why couldn't he do that? He was the one with the freaky angel powers. Why couldn't he just be like Batman? No powers, just dedication and more money than god. He shot a glance skyward, wincing. Hopefully The Big Guy wouldn't take offense to that.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "I, uh, didn't see you there. Ready? All done? Were you able to make them feel better?"

"Yeah, it was just this silly…" He stopped mid-sentence. Make them feel better? "What's that supposed to mean? Make them feel better?"

"Oh, uh, nothing." Sam shrugged, pulling open the passenger door. "I was just thinking that maybe that was the whole point. You know, of your abilities. You're supposed to make people feel better."

"Specifically people who are freaking out, huh?" Dean shook his head. Yep, this day just kept getting better and better. He slid behind the wheel. "What made you think of that?"

Sam shrugged again as he sat in the passenger seat. "Well, it does make sense," Sam pointed out. "Kinda like you're a morale officer or something."

Dean couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. "Morale officer? Dude, I think you may be reaching with that one." He turned the key, enjoyed the sound of his engine as it roared to life.

"Dean? Have you tuned up the car lately?"

Since they were still safely in park, Dean looked over at his brother. "What? You think I'm sneaking out at night while you're sleeping to work on my car?"

Sam's serious face dropped, replaced with a small grin. "Well, I wouldn't put it past you."

"Yeah, well, maybe," Dean shrugged, putting it in reverse, "but I didn't."

"Then why does it sound better?" Sam asked, tapping the dash.

"Excuse me?" Dean stopped the car, shoving it into drive. "What are you talking about?"

"The car, Dean." Sam acted like Dean was being obtuse on purpose. Whoa, was he freaking channeling Sammy now? Who the hell used the word 'obtuse' anyway?

"What about it?" Dean demanded.

"It sounds better. Smoother or something." Sam said, one finger jabbing at the dash like Dean was supposed to understand.

Dean listened carefully. The Impala sounded like she always did – sweet. What was Sam going on about? "Sammy? You feeling all right?"

Sam heaved a deep sigh. "Nevermind." He was allowed about twenty minutes of peaceful silence, punctuated periodically by something bugging the fire out of Sam.

"Sam?" Dean decided to risk a glance at his brother. "Something eating you?"

"Huh?" Sam looked startled, enough that Dean wished he had done it on purpose. "What do you mean?"

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked, suspicious now.

"Well, I was just thinking," Sam began and Dean had the distinct feeling he did not want to hear this, "maybe there is a way out of this for you."

"Out of being a morale dude?" Dean asked, hoping that was the part Sam meant and not that his moronic brother was suggesting they split up again.

"Yeah. I mean, if you think about it, the only reason it happened in the first place was because you wouldn't back down to Mike." Sam used that ultra-calm voice, the one he always had when delivering bad news.

"And?" Dean ground out, a really bad feeling settling around him.

"Well, I was just thinking, if you were to, you know, back down," Sam suggested in that same ultra-calm, far-too-reasonable voice.

"Forget it," Dean snapped.

"Come on, Dean. That's just your ego getting in the way. Don't tell me you're enjoying burping babies." Sam said with a shake of his head. "Because I won't believe you."

"Good," Dean muttered, because he had no intention of saying any such thing. Okay, so the kid was cute, but weren't all babies cute? Wasn't that evolution making sure you didn't dump your kid in the nearest river the first time he screamed too loud? And yeah, okay, he got this huge rush every time he helped someone, but that was perfectly normal. So what if he felt so good not even Mike really bugged him right afterwards? There was nothing wrong with that. To be honest, he was having a damn near impossible time keeping a big old goofy grin off his face all the time these days. He helped about three people today and felt so good Dean was afraid he was going to burst and this good feeling was going to just pour out all over the place.

"Then why are you smiling?" Sam demanded in his lawyer voice. Damn it. Dean made damn sure that smile went away.

"Shut up," Dean snapped, eyes on the road.

"Dean?" Sam had that irritating tone in his voice again. Great. Now what? "You're not serious." He felt Sam turn in the seat to face him. "Dean!"

Dean shook his head, refusing to answer.

"Come on, man. If you'd just back down to Michael then all these freaky angel abilities would go away," Sam explained.

"You sound pretty sure of that, Sam," Dean realized. "How can you be positive that would work?"

"Well, it stands to reason," Sam replied, settling back into the seat and looking out front again.

Dean frowned. He felt that Sam was hiding something. "Mike came to talk to you while I was in that diner, didn't he?"

Sam sighed. Yep, he was right. "He said that it was the best alternative he could come up with, whatever that's supposed to mean."

The words stabbed. He had saved Sam from that demon, not to mention all the other nasties who felt compelled to go after his brother. There was no way some self-righteous angel was going to make threats like that. Dean hit the gas, speeding toward an open area up ahead. There it was, a pocket park rest area just off the road. A loud squeal came from the tires as they protested the abuse Dean laid on them now. No way was he putting up with this kind of crap!

He leaped out of the car, glaring around at anyone who might be so foolish as to look his way. "Mike!" he shouted at the air in front of him. "Get your cowardly ass over here!" Dean had no way to call Mike like Sam did. At least, he hoped he didn't. "Mike!"

A large figure stepped out from behind a tree deep in the park area. Dean recognized it instantly and headed that way. He knew Sam was only a few steps behind him. He ground his teeth together, attempting to contain the emotions boiling within him. When he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, more comforting than restraining, he knew Sam could tell.

"Mike," Dean snarled, "what's the big idea?"

Mike's eyes widened innocently. "What big idea, Dean?"

Dean moved faster than even he thought possible, shoving Mike in the chest. "You don't talk to Sam alone." He shoved again. "Ever."

"Uh, Dean?"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snapped, not bothering to look at his brother's confusion. He focused on Mike. "You got something to say to me, you say it to me. Got it?"

Mike glared past Dean. "Big mouth."

Dean shoved Mike in the chest again. "Back off, dude," he warned.

Mike glowered at Dean, his eyes taking on a faint blue glow so Dean knew he had probably pushed Mike far enough. Not that it would really make a difference, mind you. He stood right up to Mike, doing the exact opposite of what he knew Mike wanted. Mike looked away, refusing to maintain eye contact. Dean suspected if Mike accepted the new challenge and Dean won, something else would happen. Whatever.

Lightning crackled through the air, causing a rippling sensation along his skin and all the hair on the back of his neck to stand straight out. A second bolt streaked from a cloudless sky to strike the ground at Mike's feet.

"Fine," Mike said with a snarl, taking a step back, "but that means he's your responsibility."

"Always has been," Dean snapped.

"If it happens again, the others won't hesitate, Dean," Mike warned him, shaking his head but still refusing to make eye contact. "They'll go right through you if they have to." He headed behind a tree where Dean knew he would not come back out.

"Dean?" Sam was at his shoulder now. "What the hell was all that about?"

"Don't worry about it," Dean replied, heading back to the car.

"Dean!" Heavy footsteps pounded behind him. Sam's hand grasped his shoulder again, but this time with more purpose. Dean paused, hoping Sam would not ask a question he could not answer. "What was that? The others? What others?"

"Sam," Dean sighed, "for a bright guy, you can be really dense."

Sam's eyes softened. "You mean, the others like Mike?" Sam nodded as though he understood, but then he asked, "But they won't hesitate to do what?"

Dean shook his head, pulling out of Sam's grasp. They were not having this conversation. "We need to go, Sam. That spirit in Seattle won't wait forever."

"Won't wait?" Sam asked as they neared the car. "What do you mean, won't wait? Can you tell if it has gone after anyone else?"

Dean glared at his brother, wondering how the hell Sam's mind worked. The instant that thought crossed his mind, however, he saw a deep room filled with books and filing cabinets, like a private library. A chalkboard, the kind they used in classrooms, stood in the middle with questions and a list of possible answers appearing on it. Damn, Sam even thought in lists? He shook his head to clear it.

Sam's concerned eyes were on him when he opened his eyes. "Dean? You okay? You don't have a headache or anything do you?"

Dean shook his head again. "Let's just hit the road, Sam." He tossed his keys in his hand as he pulled open the driver's door.

In the car, Dean noticed Sam chewing his lower lip as he turned the motor over. He resisted asking if Sam was all right, because he knew there was nothing physical bothering his brother.

"It's because of me, right?" Sam asked quietly before Dean could put his car in gear. "They're all mad at you."

"Don't worry about it, Sam," Dean stated firmly. "It's not like it's the first time I ticked off a whole group."

"But Dean," Sam's voice went up, like, an octave. "You've never ticked off angels before."

"Says who?" Dean demanded, tossing Sam a strong look. "Seriously, Sam. We've managed to make a lot of, uh, individuals pretty upset over the past few years. Who's to say a few angels haven't been in there somewhere? I mean, I haven't exactly been a religious person you know." He chuckled. "That was you."

Sam nodded sadly. "And now there are angels who want to kill me. Irony really is a bitch, isn't it?"

Dean nodded, backing the car out and easing her back onto the road. "A cold-blooded bitch, little brother."

Sam cleared his throat. "I, uh, wouldn't give you up, either." Dean felt his brother's eyes on him. "You do know that, right?"

Dean allowed his lips to curl up slightly. "Yeah, I know." The intense feelings of relief from his right were almost too much, but Dean pretended to ignore it. He had trouble ignoring the grin on his face now, though. At least he knew Sam had no plans to leave, at least not for a while. They did have that spirit in Seattle to deal with after all.

* * *

For anyone following this and not following Murphy's Law, this will probably be my last posting of L&D until December. I am doing National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) for my third year during which I will attempt to write 50k words in 30 days of original fiction. Obviously the fanfics must go on the backburner during this period. I am attempting to leave them both in a nice place until my return to fanfic in December. Thanks again to all you oddballs following this! (The harassments and Misery threats may return in December!!)


	13. Chapter 13

Yes, the oddball fantasy is back! Man, have I missed you crazy oddballs!! (I've already started on the next chapter, so hopefully there won't be a long wait for it. Yippee!!)

**Chapter Thirteen**

Finally, they made it to Seattle. Between Dean's new "job" and Mike popping in unexpectedly from time to time, hoping for Dean to back down to him, Sam had begun to wonder if they would ever make it. But here they were, parked just across the street from an abandoned apartment building.

The spirit in question was supposed to be here, attacking teens stupid enough to try spending the night here alone. Sam researched the building online during their many stops, finally hitting on the idea of doing something useful while Dean played morale officer. Now that was a concept he was still trying to wrap his head around; Dean was a morale officer, specifically for people who were freaking out. Maybe it was the concept that this was the role they thought Dean was best suited for that bothered him. Sam shook his head, staring out at the abandoned building.

All the windows were busted out, not even jagged glass remaining. The exterior was various mottled colors, like several layers of paint had been simultaneously exposed by the elements and neglect. Graffiti scrawled across one corner, advertising a local gang or someone's abundant ego.

"So?" Dean asked, squinting against the sun. Sam noticed his brother tended to shun those sunglasses since he learned how to control his glowing eyes. He figured Dean was making some kind of point with that. "What's the story?"

Sam flipped back several pages in his legal pad, past his Dean notes to the Seattle job. "Well, on a semi-regular basis a teenager goes into the building, usually on a dare to spend the night. No one ever sees them again."

"And Mike sounded pretty sure that the body was already cremated," Dean added, his eyes still locked on the building. "Any theories about what is keeping it here?"

Sam shook his head, checking his notes again. "I couldn't find anything about violent deaths here, either. It would have helped if Mike had at least given us the name of the spirit."

Dean's sigh was heavy. "Yeah, I don't think that's allowed."

Sam bit his tongue to prevent himself from asking why. He doubted Dean knew, at least not consciously. Dean kept mentioning stuff that might be against the rules, but he never seemed to know what exactly those rules were. Sam flipped to his Dean notes to enter this new information. All the hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Sam turned his head to the side to find his brother glaring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean growled, but his eyes held that low level of glow Sam was starting to identify with 'annoyed.'

Sam quickly flipped back to his research on the building. "Well, I didn't look for people who had been hurt here and died later, maybe in the hospital." He ran a hand through his hair. "That might be worth checking into."

"Maybe," Dean's gaze drifted back to the building. "We've only run into one spirit who stuck around after she was cremated."

Sam was reading through his notes again. "Yeah, but that was love," he replied.

"Right." Dean's fingers drummed on the steering wheel. "So maybe we're looking for the wrong kind of thing. It might not be a violent death." His door opened and Dean hopped out of the car.

Sam stared after his brother a moment before realizing that Dean intended to go inside. Sam rushed to catch up, not noticing the car barreling down the street. By the time he heard the horn, there was nowhere to run. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the car could stop in time. The sound of tires squealing reached his ears, making him cringe in anticipation of imminent pain. The noise stopped abruptly. Sam waited, but nothing happened. He cracked open an eye.

A car stood in the center of the street, mere feet from him. Smoke poured from its tires and the street behind it, from the black rubber tracks there. The driver stepped out, dazed. He held a hand to his temple as he looked at Sam.

"Man, you all right?" he asked, unfocused eyes looking behind him at the still smoking tracks.

Sam swallowed hard, glancing down. He was untouched. When he looked back up, Dean moved swiftly into the street toward the driver. Sam's entire skeletal structure felt like jello, so he was unable to intervene in whatever Dean had planned. Dean headed for the driver almost clouded by his haze of irritation, and were Dean's eyes glowing again? Sam tried to move, he really did, but his feet felt stuck to the street and that jello-for-bones thing was not helping. He watched Dean approach the driver in absolute horror. He could not hear the words exchanged, but the guy's face drained of what color remained just before he rushed to get back in his car. As the guy fumbled with his keys, trying desperately to start the car, Dean clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam discovered he could move now, and Dean made him move fast.

When they stood on the sidewalk, the man drove his car by slowly. The instant the car reached the next intersection it left a mark of rubber on the pavement with a squeal of tires. In a moment, it disappeared from view in the maze of city streets. Sam shook his head, turning to face his brother.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I guess I wasn't…" his voice died out at the expression on his brother's face. The term 'righteous indignation' was only something he had ever seen in a book, but that perfectly described Dean at this moment. His eyes blazed with worried anger and his features were as stern as Sam had ever seen there.

"I think you learned to look before crossing the street when you were four, Sam." His voice, a heavy sound, crashed against Sam leaving guilt and shame in its wake.

"Sorry," Sam managed to mumble, casting his eyes down. Dean grunted and Sam realized that the heavy sensation keeping him in place was gone. He lifted his eyes to see Dean walking away from him into the building. Sam rushed to catch up. "Uh, Dean?" he tried, unsure if he should even be speaking yet.

"What, Sam?" Dean sounded normal again, but his brother did not turn around.

"Shouldn't we do more research first?" Sam asked, debating with himself on whether or not to walk beside his brother. A step or two behind felt safer. "Instead of barging in unprepared?"

Dean paused in his walk. His shoulders moved slowly up and down as though his brother needed a deep breath in order to face him. Dean looked back over his shoulder. "We're not exactly unprepared, Sam."

Sam decided not to say anything more, though he felt completely unprepared for this job. He heard Dean muttering something along the lines of, "Kid can throw freaking electricity and he thinks we're unprepared."

Dean marched into the building as though they could take down whatever body-less vengeful spirit… Wait just a minute. Just because there wasn't a body did not mean… "Dean!" Sam stood stock still, amazed he did not realize it earlier. They've encountered two spirits whose bodies were cremated, not one.

"What, Sam?" Dean growled, turning around. "Look out!"

As Dean crashed into him Sam thought about how dense his brother was, and not in the intellectual way. Dean was just solid muscle, which was painfully obvious right now as all the air was forced from his lungs. "Dean…" he gasped, using the last of his air like a prayer.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean said, releasing his hold on Sam's chest. Dean turned his head and Sam followed his brother's gaze. A section of the ceiling was on the floor, right where Sam had been standing.

"Thanks," he managed to whisper as Dean hauled him to his feet. "Uh, I thought of something. There could be some remains."

Dean frowned, still regarding the rather large chunk of ceiling that tried to bean Sam. "But Mike said the body had been cremated."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean there aren't still human remains. Remember the doll?" Sam asked, leaping to the side as a section of wall fell in.

"Doll?" Dean's eyebrows drew together. He spun around to glare at the opposite wall, then at the floor. "What doll?" He stepped back, motioning to Sam.

Sam moved to where his brother indicated, wondering if the floor would be the next to go. "The ghost of that girl with the razor. The one in the haunted painting?"

"Oh, right," Dean nodded, moving closer to the wall. "Where I torched the doll and you had the girl falling all over you." Dean shook his head, like his brother had trouble with that concept. "And she thanked you for it."

"She thanked you, too!" Sam insisted, knowing not being thanked was one of his brother's pet peeves. Why in the world it would matter so much to Dean was beyond him, though. It wasn't like Dad ever said anything more than the occasional 'good job.' Sam frowned at that. Could that be the reason? And was this really the time to psychoanalyze his brother?

As an abandoned bed frame rattled, Sam decided that no, this was not the time. He and Dean watched as it shook violently, like it was working up the courage to attack them. Dean stepped right in front of him, blocking Sam's view. Before Sam could lean to the side, the sickening sound of twisting metal reached his ears. He grabbed Dean by the shoulders, intending to pull his brother out of the way, but found he could not budge his brother.

Slightly panicked, Sam looked over his brother toward the source of that twisting metal sound. A metal bed frame hovered in the air right in front of Dean, twisting away from them as it were caught in a severe windstorm. With an open mouth, Sam watched it continue to swirl and twist until it fell to the ground in a knotted heap.

"Maybe we need to do a little more research, Sam," Dean said, turning around. "Let's go."

Sam allowed Dean to steer him out of the abandoned building.

"You know," Dean mused once they were outside, "maybe one of us should go research while the other one keeps an eye on the building, to keep anyone from going in."

Sam shot Dean a look over his shoulder. "You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, you'll have the car."

Sam nodded, reassured. Dean would never just send him off on busy work with the car. He turned around to check the street for cars before crossing, when the whole world went dark.

* * *

With mounting horror, Dean watched his little brother crumple to the ground. "Sam!" he managed to catch Sam's gigantoid frame before it hit the ground. A piece of concrete laid on the ground near them. Dean shot a glare into the sky as he lifted his brother up. Though for once Sam did not feel too heavy, he was big. Dean had to drag his brother across the street and stuff him into the back seat. He toyed with the idea of going to a hospital, but he had the nagging suspicion they did not need one.

Dean drove at breakneck speed back to the abandoned house they found. This one still had running water. He dragged Sam from the car into the house, laid his brother out on a lumpy old mattress thinking that they needed to start carrying some clean sheets or blankets with them.

After a couple of anxious hours the only movement Sam had made was breathing. Well, at least he was doing that. Dean worked up his courage enough to rest a hand on his brother's forehead, where the lump from that concrete formed. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

"It would be better if you took him to a hospital." Mike's voice broke Dean's concentration.

Dean spun around, keeping a hand on his brother. "Mike, unless you're going to be helpful, for a change, get the hell out."

"Now, Dean, is that any way to talk to…"

"Yes," Dean snapped, interrupting before Mike could start on anything. "Don't let the door hit you in your harp-playing ass."

Mike lounged against the wall. "Never did learn how to play one of those things."

Dean snorted. "You must feel so neglected. I'll bet there's a class. Right now."

"I'm just saying, considering who and what Sam is, it would probably be better if you let a hospital handle this," Mike replied. "I don't think you really want to do this."

Dean shot Mike a nasty look before returning his attention to Sam. He put both hands on Sam's head and concentrated. He imagined the lump and in his mind's eye could see the swelling. Pushing deeper, Dean saw the minor damage to Sam's brain, just enough to keep his brother unconscious. He pushed and prodded a little, glowing energy speeding up the healing process. Then a darkness rose up, battled with the helping light, shoving it away. Confused, Dean poured more healing light into Sam but the darkness came back like a lightless tidal wave.

Dean stumbled backwards, confused. "I tried to warn you," Mike said. Dean expected Mike to sound smug, but there was a deep sorrow in his voice. Scowling, Dean returned to his brother. He rested one hand on Sam's chest this time, determined that this angel thing work for them. It was about time something went their way. From both hands he allowed the light to flow out, into Sam, directing it at Sam's head injury. The darkness came again, but this time there was enough light to keep it at bay long enough to heal Sam.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, still pouring out the light and reaching out for his brother. "Sammy? You hear me? Time to wake up."


	14. Chapter 14

_Warning: Some S2 finale spoilers in use from here on, but not in the same context._

You oddballs are awesome!! Returns oddball salute – my version, of course. (If there were a handbook, we couldn't be oddballs.)

**Chapter Fourteen**

Sam floated in a place of warmth and light. He was comfortable, safe, protected. Like a newborn puppy snuggling into warm human hands, Sam curled up into the light. A nudge from behind dislodged him, just enough to be uncomfortable. The darkness outside the safety of the light waited for him, to engulf him again. Sam withdrew, wrapping the light around him like a blanket. As he snuggled down he felt another nudge, harder this time. His blanket of light was dislodged and the darkness encroached.

Panicked, Sam tried to back away from the darkness into the light. He felt that nudge again, but this time it was hard enough to hurt.

"What?" Sam demanded, exasperated. "What do you want?"

"For you to wake up," Dean's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The light surrounding Sam, keeping the darkness back, sounded like Dean. "Come on, Sammy. Wake up."

With Herculean effort, Sam peeled his eyes open. Dean's worried face swam into view. His brother smiled. "Hey sleeping beauty. Trying to get out of doing a little research?" Dean's hands fell away and that wonderful warm feeling evaporated. He was just Sam again.

Sam tore his eyes away from his brother's face to see where they were. They were inside a room that seemed kind of familiar. Oh, right, it was that abandoned house Dean found for them to stay in. At least it had running water. He tried to sit up, but stars danced in front of his eyes when he moved.

"Easy, easy," Dean said, strong hands holding him down. "You took a pretty good knock to the head." The warmth flooded into him again and Sam leaned into the touch, like he was three and his brother could make everything in the world okay.

"I did?" Sam asked. He tried to remember what happened, but it was all a blur in a haze of pain. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure yet," Dean's voice took on a deadly tone, "but I plan to find out."

Sam pressed his palms against his eyes, attempting to will away the throbbing headache. He was pretty sure part of his brain was liquefying and would pour out an ear any minute now. Dean's statement penetrated the pain. "Find out what?" Sam pulled one hand away to look at his brother. "Wasn't it the ghost?"

One side of Dean's mouth twitched. Sam reached out with his emotions to see how Dean felt about it. As he expected, Dean was furious. Now who or what held the honor of being the object of his brother's fury was another matter. "Dean?" Sam allowed both of his hands to drop in order to stare at his brother. "Wasn't it the ghost?"

Dean shrugged, looking away. "Not sure."

"But you have an idea," Sam insisted. "Which is more than I'm capable of right now." Sam groaned, pressing his palms against his forehead. "I wish it would just explode and get it over with already."

"You shouldn't talk like that, Sam," Dean warned, "not anymore."

"Ha-ha. Not funny, Dean." Sam allowed his eyes to close, just for a moment, at least until his head felt a little bit better.

"Oh, I don't know," a familiar voice said, "it was a little funny."

Sam dropped his hands as his head snapped to the side. Leaning against the far wall, watching them, was Mike. "Dean?" Sam could not keep the accusation out of his voice.

"Don't look at me," Dean replied, standing. "I didn't invite him."

Sam groaned at the loss of Dean's touch, at the loss of the light. Dean glanced back, that worried expression plastered across his brother's face. Sam doubted anything could make his brother stop worrying about him, that in itself gave Sam more reassurance than mere words. He bit back the desire to ask Dean to put a hand on him, brush his shoulder, something. Instead he focused on the archangel currently invading their privacy.

"What are you doing here, Michael?" he asked, remembering to avoid the nickname only Dean was allowed to use. What was it about his brother's personality that forced you to let him use hated nicknames, anyway? "Ready to tell us the name of the spirit now?"

Michael pushed off the wall to face Sam. "Sorry, I can't do that." The quick exhale, almost a snort, from Dean was his brother's way of saying 'told you so.' Sam shot his brother a look to say 'yeah, you did, now shut up about it.'

"But if Dean would like to go get some food, I can hang out here until he gets back," Mike offered.

Dean's eyes narrowed and that low level of annoyed green glow crept into his brother's eyes. "Why?" He stepped right up to Mike. "Planning to plot behind my back with Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, like he would do that. Then again, if Dean backed down… If Dean backed down then he would probably be dead now, though he had no idea why he was so certain of that. Nope, Sam was not sure if Dean backing down was a viable option any longer. Boy, that was selfish of him. Sam squeezed his eyes closed, wondering where the hell that came from. Probably the same place as the empathy, he decided.

"Nothing like that, Dean," Mike replied with that smooth voice. "I just wanted to talk to your brother for a couple of minutes, that's all." He tossed his thick black hair. "I'm curious about what happened."

"Like you don't know?" Dean asked, the accusation clear. Sam wondered why Dean would be accusing Mike, and of what.

Mike shook his head. "Honest, Dean. I have no idea. I wasn't there."

"And you don't know?" Dean demanded pointedly.

"I don't know," Mike replied, the same calm voice. "All I know is I had nothing to do with it."

"If I leave you two alone, when I come back Sam will still be here, in one piece. You won't let anyone hurt him." It was not a question, Sam realized. Dean was issuing orders to an archangel. If he did not feel so bad, Sam would laugh at that.

The odd thing was Mike looked just as serious as Dean did. "Not anyone or anything," Mike promised solemnly.

Dean pointed a steady finger at Mike. "I'm holding you to that."

Mike bowed his head. "Thank you."

Sam watched the exchange silently, honestly not understanding what was happening here. Dean left, but only after giving Sam a long look that clearly asked for permission. Sam gave his brother a tight nod, intensely curious about what Mike could not talk about in front of Dean. Of course, he planned to tell his brother everything. Probably. Well, it depended on what it was.

Mike maintained his wall vigil for a good ten or fifteen minutes before Sam broke the silence. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

Those perfect angelic features creased into a contemplative frown. "What was it like?" he asked, moving away from the wall.

"Getting hit on the head?" Sam asked, not at all understanding the nature of Mike's question. "I don't know, because I don't remember any of it."

Mike shook his head, wild dark curls bouncing. He pulled over a chair missing half the back, dragged it over beside Sam's makeshift bed. "When Dean healed you, could you feel it? What did it feel like?" His eyes glittered with curiosity and something more, something deeper.

Sam shrugged, unable to look away. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Sam," he felt a hand on his arm, warm and comforting. It wasn't Dean's hand, but it did feel similar and Sam could not find it in himself to pull away. "Could you feel the light?"

At the mention of it, Sam felt his face split into a broad smile. "It was everywhere, warm and comforting and…" his voice trailed off at the grin spreading over Mike's face. "Problem?"

Mike let out a loud chuckle. "Nope, not anymore." Sam glared, causing Mike to clear his throat, hopefully to elaborate. "Well, some of the others were worried that… But obviously they're wrong because you saw the light, so there shouldn't be…" Mike stood, waving his hands at Sam. "Nothing to really worry about."

"Nothing to really worry about?" Sam asked, pushing himself up to sitting. "As in, there is something to worry about just not a lot?"

Sam was shocked to see Mike squirm on the broken chair. "I didn't say that. Exactly."

"You know," Sam replied, narrowing his eyes at Mike, "Dean is better at avoidance and deflection than you are. Maybe you should take notes. Speaking of which, what exactly should I be worried about?"

Mike's eyes darted away, studying the wall behind Sam. He waited, knowing what he would say if this were Dean instead of Michael. But that probably would not work anyway.

"You asked if I could feel the light, not see it," Sam said, thinking out loud in order to gauge Mike's reactions, as if angels reacted the same way as people. "So you weren't sure if I could feel it much less see it, right?"

Mike avoided eye contact, but he did give a small shake of his head.

"Why would you think that?" Sam asked, remembering the darkness that kept pushing against the light. The familiar roar of the Impala sounded just outside the house.

"Oh, thank God," Mike muttered, leaping up from his seat. As Dean burst through the door, a white plastic bag swinging from one hand, Mike gave a quick wave and disappeared.

"Sammy? Everything all right?" Dean asked, glaring at the spot Mike occupied only a second ago.

"Yeah, fine, Dean," Sam replied, settling back on the bed.

Dean pulled a Styrofoam container out of the bag dangling from one hand. Sam smelled the heavenly scent of enchiladas wafting up. "Dude, you read my mind."

Dean started when Sam said that, causing Sam to chuckle. "Not literally!"

Dean gave him an embarrassed smile. "So," Dean started once he settled next to Sam on the old mattress, food in hand, "what was all that about?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm really not sure. He was being pretty weird." He tried some of the enchilada. Oh yes, it did taste as good as it smelled.

"Define weird," Dean insisted around a mouthful of food.

Sam was grateful not to be facing his brother as they ate. Dean's habit of talking with his mouth full was, well, disgusting. Apparently acquiring archangel abilities did not mean he had to acquire table manners.

Sam shrugged as he answered, "Apparently when an angel heals you, you can see this awesome light."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, his hand hovering near his mouth with another forkful of food. "Awesome light, huh?"

Sam grinned, remembering it. "Really awesome."

"So what was the problem with that?" Dean asked. "He didn't think I could do it or something?"

Sam shook his head, slicing off another hunk of enchilada. "I guess he didn't think I would be able to see it."

"Huh?" Dean grunted around his food. "Why?"

Sam shrugged again. "No idea," he said as he lifted his plastic fork to his mouth.

Dean's chewing was loud in the otherwise quiet house. His brother's container quickly emptied of food. After Dean licked it clean and stuffed the Styrofoam into the carry out bag, his brother began to pace slowly. "He knows something," Dean declared after some time.

Sam stared down at his half eaten meal, feeling nauseous. He held it up to his brother, intending to stretch out and rest his screaming head. Dean paused as he took the container, staring down into Sam's eyes. He imagined a different kind of glow there, not the annoyed one but puzzled and compassionate. "We'll figure it out, Sammy."

Sam stretched out on the mattress, trusting whatever Dean had planned. Now that was a weird feeling, trusting Dean's plan, but it felt right as Sam closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overtake him. The darkness welcomed him back, as it did every night, but this night it did not feel quite right.

* * *

Dean watched his brother fall asleep. He would not worry about Sam's lack of appetite unless it continued tomorrow, he decided.

So Mike didn't think Sam would see this healing light, huh? Now why would that be? Could it be because he didn't think Dean could do it? He pondered on that for a moment, but as tempting as it was to find another reason to despise Mike it did not seem to fit. Okay, if he assumed it was not because of him but because of Sam, what would it be?

With a heavy sigh, Dean decided to make use of Sam's most annoying habit. He needed to make a freaking list. Sam's legal pad rested on the floor with the rest of their stuff from the car. With a deep frown, Dean picked it up and Sam's pen. He flipped past Sam's heavily scrawled pages to a blank sheet.

Trying to come up with a list of Sam-events that might explain this was harder than he thought it would be. As Sam breathed lightly on the mattress next to him, Dean worked by lamplight on the floor. After an hour he still drew a blank, nothing on his page except some circular doodles in the corners. How did Dad and Sam do this? Dean flipped through some of Sam's pages, reading over his brother's notes about the empty building where teenagers kept dying. It was no help. He hesitated before turning to Sam's notes on him and this thing with Michael. For some strange reason, Dean did not want to read through Sam's clinical listing of his new habits.

Turning back to his blank page, Dean stared at it for several minutes. Reluctantly, he realized he was getting nowhere on his own. He flipped back to the first page of the pad, the first page of the Dean Notes. Dean held his breath as he began to read, expecting an obnoxious list. It began innocently enough, with a listing of his emerging abilities. However, as he read on Dean realized Sam was not just listing things, he was reading his brother's observations of him. That was a little unnerving, especially when he got to the 'compassionate' and 'morale officer' parts.

Taking a lesson from his little brother, Dean turned back to his doodled page. With a deep breath he started with a list of Sam's abilities, starting from the death visions and ending with that damned empathy. The first list complete, Dean stole a glance at his brother. Sam still slept soundly. Chewing his lower lip, he moved on to make a few of his own observations. Dean debated on whether or not to include what Mike said, about 'considering who and what' Sam was, but he did. Dean also had no intention of Sam ever seeing this list; he planned to rip it out to keep in his pocket. He had no idea how late he worked, only that the letters began to blur on the page and at some point he really needed to rest his eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Sam felt like groaning as morning light assaulted his eyes. He squinted, trying to figure out where the damned light was coming from. Oh, right, the window. Sam rolled onto his side, blinking rapidly. His eyes finally adjusted to the light in the room. Dean was spread out on the floor in front of him.

Frowning, Sam pushed himself up to sit. His head was sore but did not issue any new complaints when he sat up, no dizziness or nausea. That was good. He felt a stab of guilt at the fact Dean had to sleep on the floor. Hoping his brother did not have a huge crick in his neck from sleeping with his head propped on his arm like that, Sam attempted to move off the mattress to wake up his brother.

Sam froze when he saw that Dean was sleeping on his notes. He wondered if his brother had been going over details of the case while he slept, but the handwriting on this page was not his. Leaning over, Sam realized that Dean had been making his own notes. About…him?

He slid the yellow legal pad out from under Dean's head, dislodging his brother in the process. Dean rolled over, one hand searching for something.

"It's not there," Sam said, referring to the knife Dean usually kept under his pillow, "you feel asleep on the floor."

Dean's eyes blinked open, his head twisting around. "Huh?" he said with his usual morning eloquence.

Sam stood, holding the pad. "Go ahead and take the mattress, I'm up."

Dean grunted as he crawled over to the mattress. As his brother spread out, Sam looked for the first page of Dean's notes. He guessed Dean read over his notes, because Dean's started out very similar to his. It began with a list of Sam's abilities which included, interestingly enough, the ability to call for Dean subconsciously. Did he do that? And technically was that his ability or Dean's?

"Got any new ideas about that ghost?" Dean's voice was muffled by the mattress.

"Uh, no," Sam replied, still reading Dean's notes. "I'll get to that in a minute."

"Huh?" Dean rolled on his side to stare up at Sam. Sam ignored his brother, wanting to read through the last of Dean's observations of him before Dean realized what he was doing. "Then what are you…" When Dean gasped, an odd girly sound coming from his overly macho brother, Sam's eyes picked up speed, determined to read through the rest.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean thundered. Was that actual thunder in the distance? "Give me that!"

Sam held it up at arm's length, out of Dean's immediate reach, as he kept reading. "In a minute."

"Sam," Dean growled, jumping up at the pad. With a laugh Sam lifted it over his head, eyes still focused on the yellow paper. "You weren't supposed to see that!"

"Too late," Sam said dismissively, holding out his free hand to thwart Dean's attempts to get the list. "What's this that Mike said? About me?"

"Doesn't matter," Dean snarled, snaking a hand around to grab the pad. He wrested it from Sam, Sam only letting go when he realized if he didn't they would shred the pad between them and he still needed his notes. Dean ripped the pages of his Sam notes out, folding them hurriedly before stuffing them in a pocket.

With the immediate threat of Sam reading Dean's thoughts gone, although he did get to read most of it, Dean stood silent in the center of the room.

"Well, I'm done sleeping," Dean said, breaking the silence. "Let's go hit the library."

Sam expected something more spectacular, so his brother's dismissive attitude was surprising. After they both changed clothes, brushed teeth and whatever else they needed to do, Sam followed Dean quietly out to the car.

At the car, Dean let out a loud sigh. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Sam opened the passenger door, looking over the roof at his brother. "About what?"

Dean rested his arms on the roof, drumming his fingers to an unheard tune. Probably Metallica. "What you read."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. Unless you're planning to ask me about what you read in my notes?"

Dean appeared to ponder that for a moment. "Maybe later." He opened his door, paused. "Where did you get the whole morale officer thing from? That doesn't sound like you."

Sam stared back, again considering lying before dismissing it. "Same place you got the 'considering who and what Sam is' thing."

Dean pressed his lips together tight, drawing them into a thin colorless line. Without even a nod of recognition, he lowered himself down into the driver's seat. Sam did the same on his side, but without the tight, worried face.

As they drove to the local library, Sam wondered about that light. He remembered feeling it again each time Dean touched him after he woke up last night. Then there was that disturbing thing about 'who and what' he was. Sam figured he understood the 'who' part, at least he hoped so. It was the 'what' that bothered him. Yes he had abilities that came from the demon blood in him, but what exactly did that make him?

"Sam wears women's underwear."

His head snapped to the side. How long had Dean been talking and he not notice? "What?" he asked weakly, the fact he hadn't been listening painfully obvious.

"I said," Dean paused, actually taking his eyes off the road to scan Sam's face, "what's your plan? For the research?"

"No you didn't," Sam replied softly, unsure if his voice was loud enough to be heard. "You said something else." He considered that for a moment, searching his feelings. "It was something disturbing."

The side of Dean's face he could see winced. "Oh, come on, Sam, don't be such a drama queen."

"So what was it?" Sam asked, attempting to inject some force into his voice. He needed Dean to think he could handle whatever it was.

"It was about the research," Dean replied, his voice too light, "I can't lie, Sam."

"Right." Sam sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. Dean couldn't lie. So why would a simple question about the research be so disturbing? He cut his eyes to take in his brother. Maybe they had a little more going than just empathy. "So what were you thinking when you asked me that?"

"Not funny, Sam," Dean snapped.

"Wasn't meant to be, Dean." Sam closed his eyes in an attempt to rewind everything he heard and thought. Suddenly, like a movie playing, he could hear and see what just happened inside the car while his attention was elsewhere. Dean did ask about how Sam planned to do this research, but the expression on his brother's face had been distracted and distant. Sam ran it back again, focusing this time on his emotions. His emotions were dark and brooding, which Dean constantly accused him of being anyway. Another emotional run-through showed him Dean's emotions, which were mainly angry. The last time he ran it past his mind's eye, Sam tried to delve into Dean's mind, pick up on his brother's thoughts.

"Stop it!" Dean's voice shook the car, vibrating Sam's entire frame. He opened his eyes to a parking lot, mostly empty. A small library stood to their right, simple brick and a lone tree out front. Concrete surrounded the building and the tree, no room even for a swath of grass around the lonely twig sporting a dozen green leaves. He turned, and the image of what sat to his left burned into his brain, seared there for eternity.

Dean slumped over the steering wheel, clutching his head in his hands. Pain was etched into every crease of his brother's face, the way his fingertips dug into pale skin, the hunch of his shoulders and overall tightness of Dean's frame. "Dean?" he whispered uncertainly. His hand hovered between them, unsure if he caused this or if his touch would help. When his brother did not answer, Sam opted for touch.

As his fingers wrapped around Dean's arm Sam felt the tight muscles there, twitching like his brother was in the middle of a fight, and the same image of their interaction flashed through his mind's eye only this time from Dean's point of view. He knew Dean fought against it and the resistance caused pain to flare behind his brother's eyes.

"Whoa," Sam latched on to his brother with his other hand, brow furrowed in concentration. "Easy now, stop fighting it, Dean."

The instant Dean's muscles relaxed, the pain receded. Sam no longer wanted to see it again and again, to know exactly what Dean said. He repeated that to himself, that he did not want to see it, did not want to know. Dean's arm relaxed even more, leaning in to his hands, in to his touch the way Sam did before. He thought about the light again, that wonderful warmth, and just that fast he could see it radiating from Dean's core. The light spread fast, enveloping first him and then the car, reaching out to everyone and every living thing. The twig of a tree in front of them shimmered with Dean's radiance. A dozen new leaves sprouted as he watched, making the twig look more like a real tree.

Sam dug his fingers into Dean's shoulder. "I think that's enough," he whispered. "You're going to make that tree grow too fast."

Dean's head lifted and he gave Sam this incredulous look. "What? What the hell are you…" Dean's voice trailed off as he turned to look out the window. "Cute tree."

Fear shoved away that glow inside his chest, cold replacing the warmth. Fresh new leaves continued to sprout, unfurl and spread their green surfaces towards Dean. "Sam?" Dean's voice quavered. "Is it…growing?"

"You need to stop," Sam whispered, "before somebody notices and figures out that it's you."

Dean's head tilted slowly toward him. "That it's me?" His eyes were distant and unfocused. "Why would anyone care?"

"Dean!" Sam shook his arm, fear coursing through him. "If other hunters found out, they wouldn't understand. They'd think that you were like…"

Dean's forehead wrinkled and his brother truly appeared confused. "Like what, Sam?"

Sam took a deep breath before answering. "Like me. Come on, Dean. Knock it off."

His words produced an astounding effect. Dean's eyes focused, sharp and clear. His body unfurled in the seat, straight and confident. "What's that supposed to mean? I got smart all of a sudden?" Dean demanded. "There's nothing wrong with you, Sam."

Sam knew this was a touchy subject, but he felt it had to be said. "Then why are other hunters after me, Dean? Huh?"

"Come on," Dean pushed his door open. "We need to figure out what's going on with that building."

Sam blew out a breath before following his brother up to the library. He paused by the little tree, which resembled more of a tall bush now. New life sprouted from every branch. In wonder, Sam reached out to touch one of the new leaves. It turned brown and curled away from his finger, edges shrinking dry and brittle. He yanked his hand away, but it was too late. The dead leaf dangled for a moment before dropping to the ground like a stone. Sam staggered back, stunned.

"Sam! You coming or what?" Dean shouted from the library doorway.

With faltering steps, Sam made his way to the library before his brother got them banned. That tree, it was a little disturbing. Sam attempted to concentrate on the research and ignore what happened outside, chalking it up to coincidence, but he saw the image of that withering leaf on every page. The fact the paper pages of the books allowed him to touch them amazed him.

* * *

Dean kept an eye on Sam while he tried researching that building. Sam was distracted, off-balance. A fresh surge of guilt consumed him. Sam was probably worried about that tree, but it wasn't like that was something Dean could have controlled. Then again, that was probably plenty of reason to worry. He forced his eyes down to the computer screen where he attempted to read local hospital records. He just hoped that the replay thing only happened to him and not to the others, or they were going to have some serious problems as soon as the others recovered.


	16. Chapter 16

Oh yes, I'm on an oddball roll!! Thanks again to everyone following this and those of you kind enough to leave a review. (Those just egg me on, you know!)

**Chapter Sixteen**

Dean rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, pulling his brother away from their research. Sam turned bloodshot eyes toward him. "Come on, let's grab some lunch."

"Why?" Sam asked, his voice too soft, too insecure. "Another job?"

"Just my big one," Dean replied. When Sam's brow furrowed he added, "Looking after you. Come on, you look like you're about to pass out. We need to eat." He tried pulling Sam up, but his brother shook off his hands.

"Fine, fine. I'm coming," Sam snarled, gathering all the pages he either copied or printed. Dean waited impatiently while Sam threw nasty glares his direction. Well, at least his brother acted more normal right now than he did earlier. Hands full of papers and that damned legal pad, Sam followed him out to the car.

As they passed the tree Dean noticed one branch had withered, all the leaves brown and drying. On impulse, he touched it. The dry leaves became supple under his fingers and he imagined he saw that same healing light tracing the branch and leaves. In moments green crept into the leaves. When it looked healthy again, Dean released it.

"That is too cool," Sam breathed into his ear.

Dean shrugged it off. "So what do you feel like? I'm starving." He headed for the driver's side door of his car. "Burgers? I think I saw a Mexican place on the way in, if you'd prefer that." He grinned at his brother. "Cerveza?"

"Funny, Dean." Sam shook his head, long hair bouncing around. "Burgers sound fine."

Dean shrugged, pulling the door open. He heard papers shuffling as Sam attempted to put all their research in order while he drove to their late lunch. Before he pulled the keys out of the ignition, Dean stole a glance at his brother. Sam looked a million miles away. Again. Ever since his brother read that stupid list he made, Sam had been too distracted. He needed some way to make his brother focus and stop worrying. Worrying was his job, not Sam's. Sam needed to figure out what was going on with this spirit.

"Got anything promising?" Dean asked, slipping the key out of the ignition.

Sam sighed, thrusting the entire mess at him. "Nope." Sam motioned with his empty hands. "Go ahead, your turn."

Dean shoved the papers under one arm as he got out of the car. "What's wrong, your list not working?" He heard the snark in his voice but he did not care, hoping it would jar Sam out of this mood.

Sam sighed heavily. "Apparently not."

Slightly disappointed, Dean shrugged as he led the way inside the burger joint. He picked a booth near the window, where he could keep an eye on his car. The waitress, another gum snapping lady with frizzy hair and huge earrings, approached their table. Dean ordered cheeseburgers for both of them, ignoring the subtle pull from the core of his being. Sam needed him more right now than anyone else with this mood Sam seemed to be in. Besides, he was tired of cold meals just because somebody nearby happened to be having a bad day.

Dean expected Mike to show up in the library, so when the restaurant door opened and dark curly hair appeared he was not surprised. Mike motioned to him to come outside, not joining them at the table like he usually did. Concerned, Dean caught Sam's eye.

"Dude, I'm going to step out front for a minute. You okay here?" he asked, trying not to look at Mike.

Sam, looking as depressed as he did right after Jessica, nodded while staring down at the table surface. "Go ahead, do your job. I'm fine."

Dean frowned. Sam was far from fine. He debated with himself on whether or not to leave Sam's side even for a couple of minutes. Mike waved frantically from the door.

He rested a hand on Sam's shoulder briefly. "I'll be right back. Make sure they get my burger right." Sam's head bobbed again, but his brother did not bother to look up.

Dean's anxiety ramped up at Sam's reaction, but he hurried out the door after Mike. "Make it quick," he snapped as he approached the legendary archangel.

Mike turned around, his eyes holding a low blue glow. "There's a problem. With Sam."

"What? This have anything to do with that whole seeing the light thing?" Dean asked, not bothering to pull back his glare.

"Kind of," Mike admitted. "Just how much do you know about your brother, Dean?"

Dean staggered back a step, but only one. He recovered quickly, his natural reactions taking over. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, not bothering to lower his voice. A low rumble came from the clear sky.

"Dean, you do know Sam was picked for the other side, right?" Mike asked, not beating around the bush for a change.

Dean forced his game face on, determined not to give away more than Mike might already know. "Yeah. So?"

"So? So do you know what Sam's role was supposed to be?" Mike asked as he began to pace. Dean shook his head, not trusting his voice at the moment. He watched the archangel in front of him, pulsing with energy. "Do you have any idea?"

Dean shrugged, not understanding the intensity of Mike's concern. "But I saved him. What does it matter what their plan was?"

Mike froze. His head rotated slowly to Dean. "Can't you see why Sam was chosen?"

Dean crossed both arms over his chest. "I thought this was about the replay thing in the car."

Mike stared at him a moment before running a hand over his forehead. "I really don't understand how Sam doesn't have a headache all the time." Mike ran both hands through that wild hair. "The replay thing was a concern, of course, but they're a little more excited by the tree."

"They're excited about some leaves?" Dean asked, amazed. Well, he guessed it did make sense that angels would be the ultimate tree huggers, but wasn't that taking things too far?

Mike leveled his eyes on Dean, locking their gazes, but Dean did not feel challenged this time. "Mike?"

"You reversed it," he said simply. "They want to know if you think you can do it to Sam."

"Do what?" Dean asked.

"Heal him, like you did with the tree," Mike said, sounding expectant.

Dean's brow furrowed in his confusion. "I thought I did."

Mike shook his head, wild curls bouncing around like he was in the middle of a storm. "Not the head thing!" The air crackled with electricity. "The other thing!" Mike's hand moved through the air, sending a blast of wind right into Dean's face.

Dean blew the dust he found in his nose out. "What. Other. Thing?"

Mike stepped closer, his glowing eyes warming with each step. Dean felt himself relax as Mike closed the space between them. A warm palm pressed against his brow. Dean closed his eyes, allowing Mike to do whatever he wanted, unable to even think of why he might want to stop it. When Mike broke the contact, moving away, Dean felt slightly disoriented.

Why did he come out here again? Where was Sam? He turned to look at the burger joint behind him. Sam sat by a window, still staring down at the empty table. Nothing moved.

"You don't know," Mike said, his hands trembling inches away from Dean's head. "You really don't know."

"Did you pause time again?" Dean asked, turning slowly away from the image of frozen Sam.

"Yes."

Still wrapped in that feeling of complete calm, Dean looked Mike in the eye. "You mind waiting until I'm back inside to start it up? So I won't be away from Sam for too long?"

"Do you know why you're so worried, Dean?" Mike asked gently.

Dean nodded, moving away. "Sam's in a bad mood. I haven't seen him like this since… In a long time."

"You know that dead branch on the tree?" Mike asked. "Sam did that. He didn't mean to, but he did it. And now he's wondering what he might do to you."

Dean scratched the back of his neck. "What about the others? Are they going to trust me to handle him?"

Mike's smile contained the brilliance of the sun on a bright morning. "I think I've convinced them to back off for a while."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me the name of that spirit now?" Dean asked, knowing it was wishful thinking.

Mike chuckled. "You know, Dean, I like you more every day."

Dean headed back to the restaurant, feeling the sensation of time picking up again. "Wish I could say that same," he mumbled. He had more important things to worry about, though.

* * *

Sam felt lower than, well, low. His head was too heavy to hold up and all he wanted to do was crawl back on that nasty old mattress and go to sleep. Forever. A strange tingle along his spine felt familiar somehow. As he tried to place it, Dean slipped back into the booth across from him.

"Done?" Sam asked, tracing the fake woodgrain with his thumbnail. He still did not know how he felt about this morale officer job of Dean's, but his brother seemed to be in a better mood lately. Maybe Sam shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but he just did not trust Mike. It was all Mike's fault anyway. That guy just couldn't stop needling Dean, pushing his brother to the limit. Sam should have put a stop to it long ago. If he had maybe things would never have escalated this far.

"Not really," Dean replied.

Sam dragged his eyes from the table to meet Dean's heavy gaze. His brother looked exactly as he did the morning after Jessica died. Damn. It must have been bad.

"What happened?" Sam asked, alarmed.

Dean stared hard at him. "Why don't you tell me? I'd rather hear it from you."

Okay, now that was weird. "I don't get it, Dean." Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

Dean leaned forward on the table, his nose only inches away. Sam could still smell the toothpaste on Dean's breath. "Sam? The tree?"

Sam felt the nasty expression crawling slowly across his face. Oh yeah, he remembered that tingle now. "Mike was here, wasn't he? That wasn't a job."

"It was about my job. Now tell me what happened with the tree," Dean said in that tell-me-because-I'm-the-oldest-and-I-said-so voice.

"I'm not hungry," Sam announced, sliding to the end of the bench seat. Before he could get his feet out, Dean stood in his way, blocking his escape. "Move, Dean."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Sam. One corner of his brother's mouth twitched twice. Sam knew what that meant; Dean intended to make some type of very public display unless Sam did what he wanted. Knowing his brother, it would be extremely embarrassing as well.

As he considered what it might take to push by Dean, his brother leaned over to whisper, "Don't even think about it." A strong finger pointed down at the table. "You're going to sit here, eat, and tell me what happened."

"In that order," Sam agreed, never fully intending on following through. It wouldn't be the first time he lied to his brother. He felt Dean's glare but did not look up. He was pretty sure Dean talked to Mike, but how could Mike know about the tree? They were obviously keeping closer tabs on Dean than Mike let on. He shifted back over to his original spot closer to the window.

Sam wondered if he could ever touch anything living again. Would all trees, plants and flowers wilt and die around him? Could he even bring himself to try it? Dean would have to find out about it eventually, he couldn't hide his plant-killing nature forever. Oh, god, what about Dean? Frightened, he looked up at his brother. What if his killing touch worked on Dean too?

Dean frowned at him. "Sammy, I think you need to relax a little. You seem pretty tense." Dean's hand reached out for him. Sam jumped backward, slamming in the back of the seat. The people on the other side grumbled a few things he did not quite catch, but at least Dean wasn't hurt. Or dying.

"Uh, Sam?" Dean's hand still hovered in the air, his eyes glowing more than they had in days. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Anger flared within Sam. Pure anger, the kind that would make Doc Ellicott proud, lifted its nasty head and set its sights on Dean. "Wrong with me? Why don't you get out your list and check for yourself?" Sam snapped, warming to the raging emotion. "Or give your buddy Mike a call, why don't you? Everybody's just talking about me behind my back aren't they?" Sam slid off the bench seat to stand staring down at Dean. His brother's jaw fell slightly open, slack, and the glow in his eyes really pissed Sam off right now. "That's what the thing in the park was about, wasn't it? Me!" He knew he was shouting now, but for some reason he either didn't care he was shouting or didn't care who heard, and he was way too far gone to worry about which one it was. Sam slammed both hands down on the table, gratified when it buckled under and fell to one side, the support beam underneath bent and the tabletop cracked.

Sam spun around, intending to march out past all the obvious pointing, whispers and stares. Instead he found frozen faces, people stopped in mid-movement. Sam ground his teeth together.

"And that guy thought he was having a bad day," Dean's voice carried well in the absolute silence.

Sam twisted his upper body to see what Dean meant, his curiosity temporarily overcoming his anger. Dean stood near a young man wearing slacks and a polo shirt, a burger held halfway to his mouth. Dean shook his head at the guy. "His girlfriend is trying to get him to commit by inventing another guy who is interested in her. Sick, huh?"

Sam realized that everyone in the room was frozen or paused. Was this that time-stopping thing Dean tried to describe? "What's going on?"

"Just a sec, Sammy," Dean replied, reaching across the guy. Dean's hand came back with the woman's purse. He opened it and took out a thin book titled 'How to Convince Your Boyfriend To Commit.' "It's people who buy this crap who ought to be committed," Dean said with a sneer. He left the book next to the guy's plate.

Dean headed across the room. "If that doesn't do it, tough." His brother paused at the door. "Dude, you coming? I can't keep it paused forever." He chuckled. "Actually, I'm not real sure I know how I'm doing it now."

Sam marched past his brother toward the car, angry thoughts and feelings swirling around his head. As he reached for the car doorhandle, a sense of peace and calm drifted by. Sam paused, wondering what caused that. Then the same sensation happened again, only this time it stayed, pushing away all that anger. Mentally Sam reached out for it, pulling it around himself like a shield. It wasn't until he felt fingers digging into his shoulder muscles that he realized he was being touched.

"Dude, you're way too tense. Hey, how about a massage?" Sam looked back into Dean's beaming face. "Huh? Massage? If we find someone really good, you won't even care if she's good looking." Dean's eyebrows danced over his eyes.

Sam squeezed his eyes closed. Well, now he knew just touching Dean wouldn't be enough to kill his big brother. That should be comforting, but unfortunately said brother just offered to find him a prostitute. That was disturbing on a whole new level.


	17. Chapter 17

The hiatus is over! Whooo-hooo!! I hope you oddballs enjoy!

**Chapter Seventeen**

Dean wondered if he should just say screw it on the whole research part of this thing and head back to the building, say screw it on the hunt and head back to the house, or go back to the library which up to this point had not been helpful at all.

"Where are we headed, Sam?" he asked, hoping for a little direction from little brother.

Sam stared out the front windshield. "You knew about the tree, didn't you? How?"

Dean considered pretending Sam did not ask that. "Mike told me," he finally said. "I think he was worried about how it was affecting you."

He felt Sam staring at him. "Worried?" Sam's voice was like ice. "Mike?"

Dean shrugged, unwilling to get in that particular conversation. Besides, that tone in Sam's voice creeped him out. "So where are we going, Sam? You want to do more research, just stake out the building or what?"

A long, lone sigh exhaled from his right. "What's the point?"

"The point?" Dean pulled off the road at the next parking lot. He stopped the car to stare unbelieving at his brother. "What do you mean, what's the point?"

Sam sighed again, staring down at his feet. "Why should I even try? I mean, no matter what, I'm doomed. Mike probably told you that, too."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" Dean asked. He would like to be angry, but the fear radiating off Sam was overpowering. "Sammy?"

Dean found his hand reaching out for his brother. He saw his brother flinch just before he could touch Sam's arm. Dean froze, unwilling to hurt Sam even unintentionally. He pulled his hand back. "Sam?"

Sam shook his head and Dean saw the tears pouring out. "It died because I touched it, Dean. I don't…" Sam took a deep breath. "I don't want that to happen to you."

"It hasn't happened yet, Sam," Dean reasoned, wondering just how far gone Sam's paranoia was. "And I don't think it will. Neither does Mike."

Sam turned a tear-stained face to him. "You're just saying that."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're the one who figured out I can't lie. Why do you keep accusing me of it?"

The ghost of a smile crossed Sam's face. "Habit?"

Dean pressed a hand against Sam's shoulder. He allowed a sense of family, the way he always felt about Sam and Dad, to flow out into Sam. After about a minute a real smile came over Sam's face. Sam shrugged him off. "Okay, Dean, okay. I get it."

"About time," Dean snapped, but he grinned and put his hand back on the steering wheel. "So, building or library?"

Sam ran both hands through his hair, reminding Dean of Mike for an instant. Sam shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. "I don't know, Dean. I just can't concentrate."

"Okay, Sam. It's fine." Dean chewed his lower lip for moment, wondering what they should do next. In front of the windshield, a blinking blue neon sign appeared that said 'building.' "Let's go stake out the building, make sure no other kids go inside." The flashing neon sign disappeared. That probably meant they needed to get there pretty quick.

Dean pressed down on the accelerator. Of course, every light was red. Dean grumbled under his breath, but for some reason just could not bring himself to run the lights so it took for-freaking-ever to get to the stupid building.

"So why are we here?" Sam asked when Dean finally, finally pulled up at the building.

"I told you," he snapped, his patience exhausted by all those frigging red lights, "to make sure no stupid kids turn into dead, stupid kids."

Sam nodded as he unfolded his long frame from the car. "Did I ever tell you that you have a real way with words?"

"Come on," Dean said, preferring not to start anything right now. His mind raced for a way to check out the building without actually going inside again. He might not be able to protect Sam this time, and he did not want to risk his brother. That was one screwed up spirit in this place. Dean chose to walk along the outside of the building, hoping not to hear anything happening on the inside. As they walked along, Sam took out his EMF and pointed it at the wall. Dean preferred his homemade one to Sam's storebought, but Sam's was almost as reliable.

As Dean strained to listen, he noticed that he could hear lots of different voices. He paused, trying to sort them out. When the beams of light appeared, he knew the voices he heard might not be close by. Then the idea that those thin strands of light might actually help struck him. Dean focused on the building, looking for any strand that might be coming from it. When he found nothing, he let out a sigh of relief.

"I don't think there's anyone inside. Yet." Dean informed his brother.

"Yet?" Sam asked, and Dean heard that note of suspicion. "What made you say 'yet'?"

"I didn't really mean to say it," Dean replied, Sam's voice making him uneasy. He really did not want to tell Sam anything that might make it on to that stupid list.

"You didn't mean to say it," Sam replied, turning to face him, "but you did, so it means something. You think someone is going inside tonight, don't you?"

Dean nodded, turning away to look over the building again. "Where do you think we should…"

Three teenagers approached from the opposite direction. Dean nudged Sam before walking towards them. He felt Sam a step behind and to his right. Excitement and fear radiated off those kids. Dean glanced back to see if Sam was getting that too.

Sam's face was grave and hard. Yep, Sam must have been getting the same impression Dean was.

"I dunno, Sam. That last dead body, it was pretty bad," Dean said loudly. "Anyone who would stay the night in there would have to be stupid."

Sam stopped beside him to glare at the building. "But it doesn't make sense, Dean. Why would a serial killer hang out in an abandoned building?" Sam's voice was loud enough to be heard by the kids, so he understood what Dean wanted to do.

Relieved, Dean waved his hands at the wall behind Sam. "How the hell should I know, Sam? I mean, can you really understand a serial killer? They're crazy!"

"Maybe we should call in some units to sweep the building again," Sam suggested.

Dean marveled at how official his brother could sound. "Again? You really think they're going to find any more this time?"

Sam shrugged. "Couldn't hurt. And if they find some kids inside, they can just arrest them."

"I wish stupidity was a crime," Dean replied, looking Sam in the eye, "then we could hold them indefinitely. Fine, let's make the call," he said, motioning for Sam to follow him. They made their way back to the car across the street. At the car, Dean paused to pull out his cell and made a big production of calling in a unit to search the building and arrest anyone they found inside. He made sure his voice carried to the kids loitering outside the building, though he was not sure how he was doing it. It felt like an eternity for the teens to decide trespassing might not be worth it today and walk away. Dean fell into the driver's seat with an overwhelming sense of relief.

"At least we don't have to go back in right away," he muttered, starting the engine. Dean looked over at his brother in the passenger seat. Sam had a strange look on his face. "So, the house or library?"

"Dean?" Sam's voice was tight, strained. "What the hell was that?"

"What the hell was what?" Dean asked, turning off the radio. He looked through the windshield at the building, wondering if they should stick around a little to be sure those kids didn't come back. A traffic light appeared right in front of him, the lights changing from red to green. Apparently it was okay for them to leave.

"You lied," Sam said pointedly. "I thought you couldn't lie, but you just lied like a pro. What the hell was up with that?"

Sam actually sounded angry. "We were saving lives," Dean explained. "If lives are on the line, I can lie."

Sam rolled his eyes, throwing his head back. "And you don't think to tell me that little fact until NOW?"

Dean shrugged. "It didn't come up."

"But you knew!" Sam accused, glaring at him.

"Mike told me. I guess I kind of forgot." Dean shrugged again, not understanding where all of Sam's hostility was coming from. "Dude, you okay? You look a little pale."

Sam's eyes narrowed at him and Dean had the sudden impression of how the things they hunted might view his brother. Intimidating only began to describe it. But this was his brother, it was not like he was in any real danger. "Sam?"

Sam's expression softened slightly. "Forgot, huh? Did you forget to tell me that our abilities are in conflict, too?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, still wondering if they should head back to the library.

"Yours are based in …," Sam motioned upwards, his face scowling, "mine are evil. If that's not a conflict, then I don't know what is."

Dean scowled back. "It doesn't matter where it came from, just how you use it. I could be robbing banks or something with mine, would that make me a better person than you?"

Sam's eyes bored into his. "You can't even use a scammed credit card. There is no way you could rob a bank. So yes, that makes you a better person than me." Sam's arms crossed over his chest and he got that stubborn look Dean knew only too well.

Dean took a deep breath and held it a moment. "Library or house, Sam?"

Sam let out a big huff. "Library. I'll look for people who died from something that happened in the building."

"Fine." Dean took one long look at his brother before shoving the car into drive. Sam could be really touchy these days.

* * *

It took all of Sam's self-control not to reach over and throttle his brother right now. It took even more effort than that to block those thoughts and feelings from Dean. It didn't occur to him to mention that he could lie in order to save lives? That was kind of important, list important. Sam also resisted getting his list out and adding the new information. As he thought about it, he realized that Dean could be holding other things back just to prevent Sam from adding them to The List.

Now that Dean had his own list about Sam, Sam had a better appreciation for how it felt to be analyzed like that. It was not a good feeling. He could understand it, but he still wanted to throttle Dean. Well, at least he had a fresh perspective for research, since everything else so far had turned up a dead end. He would really appreciate Dad showing up about now to shake his head, call them morons, and point out exactly what they were after. Sure it would piss him off, but at least they would be closer to concluding this hunt and getting away from Mike.

Ha. Get away from Mike. How exactly did you dodge an archangel? He was the one Mike used to be so chummy with while Dean caught all the attitude. Now it was the other way around, and Sam did not care for it. He really needed to start giving Dean more credit; his brother put up with a lot without ever complaining. Plus Dean kept defending him to Mike, and Sam hadn't really done that when their positions were reversed. He had expected Dean to be Dean and just take it. When Dean hit his limit and accepted Mike's challenge, Sam had not done much more than just cringe because he had been surprised Dean had put up with it for that long. But when Dean won… Wow. Sam had not expected that.

Maybe that was why he felt so guilty all the time now. This mess was his fault. Sam slid further down in the seat. Was there any way to redeem himself now? Even with the demon blood in him, he had never felt like a bad person compared with Dean. Dean didn't have demon blood, but he hustled, lied, ran credit card scams, probably still stole stuff on occasion, not to mention his brother's natural ability to pick locks. Sam looked freaking angelic in comparison. But now? Now it was obvious what Sam was, and he did not like being obvious. The really weird part was that Dean still did not seem able to see it. His brother even fixed that dead branch but still would not own up to the fact he had to turn evil eventually.

"Sam?" Warmth and light permeated his soul from his left shoulder. His dark thoughts retreated to a far recess of his mind, out of the light.

"Yeah?" he squeaked, causing Dean's eyebrows to draw together. Sam cleared his throat, wishing that touch of light and warmth could stay with him and keep the darkness away. When it did leave, the light lingering longer and longer each time after Dean removed his hand, the darkness of his thoughts swirled forward attempting to drive every last vestige of the light away. That was the reason Sam knew, beyond any conceivable doubt, that their abilities were in constant conflict. "I think I know how we should approach the research this time."

Dean flashed him a grin. "All right. Let's go!"

His brother bounded out of the car full of life and energy. Dean was not always like that. If he had been, Sam was certain he would have killed his brother years ago. Now that thought was so disturbing it needed to go on Dean's list. Sam tried to shake it from his mind as he followed his brother inside. They had a job to do.


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks you oddballs!! And a special shout-out to that lurker who should be getting her home internet this weekend!

**Chapter Eighteen**

"This is more like it," Sam muttered, going over old police reports from the abandoned house. His satellite uplink, homemade, also gave him access to various police records. Sam liked to keep his hacking skills up to date anyway. There were a number of dead kids found in that building, but they needed the first one, the very first one.

There were a couple that looked promising. Two kids, about thirty years ago when the building was still relatively new tenant housing, were beaten nearly to death inside. Found by the janitor, the kids were rushed to the hospital. The police investigated but the assailants were never found.

Sam did a search on the names of the kids. One died a few weeks later from extensive internal injuries the doctors could not deal with, and the other died two months ago at the age of forty-three. Sam frowned, doing an additional search for the cause of death of the kid who survived the initial attack. He was killed in a car wreck on the other side of the country, but the timing was right. The attacks on teens in the building started days after the second guy died in the car wreck.

"This is weird," Sam said, pointing out the article. "I found one guy who died from an attack in the building thirty years ago. He was fourteen. A second kid was with him, but he lived."

"We should talk to him," Dean said, abandoning the weapon he was cleaning to move his chair to sit closer to Sam. Even a close proximity to his brother felt comforting.

"He died in a car wreck two months ago. Two days later the first kid was killed in that building." Sam pointed out the obituary on the screen. "And according to this, he was cremated."

"Sounds like the guy." Dean went quiet for a moment. "Right?"

Sam rubbed his eyes with both hands. They felt scratchy and dry, too much time staring at a computer screen. He passed it over to Dean. "You tell me. I need a break."

Dean took the laptop from him, nodding over to the Styrofoam container against the wall. "Grab a beer for me too, will ya?"

Sam chuckled as he pushed away from the table. He retrieved a couple of cold sodas before bouncing down on the mattress. "Well?" he asked, handing out the drink.

Dean shrugged, scowling at the lack of beer being held out. "Could be him. Let's see if we can talk to some friends or family. That might shed some light on this."

Sam nodded. "Works for me. When do you want to go?"

Dean pointed to the screen. "Looks like the services were held here in town, so he must have been local. Maybe we can get some names off the registry?"

Sam shook his head. "That usually goes to the family. Most funeral homes don't keep a copy."

Dean raised an eyebrow at that. "Seriously? Dude, why do they have to make things so difficult for us?"

"Maybe they don't," Sam replied, a thought coming to him. "Let me see that." Dean handed the laptop over. Sam did a search on that name until he found the online guest book of the funeral home. It was still up, with about a dozen names listed. They chose three of the most personal entries, hoping those would be the best leads.

Sam decided they should try to talk to the people in person rather than over the phone. His hope being, of course, that Dean's new abilities would pick up on more than they usually would.

The first two were a bust, information-wise. All they learned was what a great guy Jerry was and what a great friend. Yadda-yadda. It was typical of all the stuff you usually heard about the dead. They needed something real, and Dean had not picked up on anything worth following up.

The last person on their list lived in brown and white two storey house. Two kids flew out the door after they knocked, stumbling into their legs in a rush to go outside. Dean chuckled at them as they tumbled to the ground in the front yard, yelling.

"Boys!" A woman's voice bellowed. "Don't kill each other!" She appeared in the open doorway. Pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, she addressed them. "I'm sorry about that, but they're driving me crazy."

Dean smiled. "No problem, ma'am. My brother here and I understand what brothers are like." Dean gestured at the boys rolling in the grass. "They're pretty tame compared with us."

The woman smiled. "And you are?"

Sam flashed one of their fake ids. "Reporters with the Chicago Sun. I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean." Since Dean couldn't lie, he had to stick with their real names.

She nodded. "And what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We're, ah, doing a follow-up story on Jerry Williamsburg. Human interest piece. You knew him?" Sam said quickly, hoping to prevent Dean from saying anything that might blow their cover.

She motioned them through the door. "Coffee?"

"Thanks," Dean said, shoving Sam out of the way. The brief touch filled him with a lightness and hope, which dispersed the instant Dean stepped away. Momentarily dazed, Sam stood just outside the door.

"Psst!" Dean hissed at him. "Dude, you coming in or what?"

Sam nodded, following his brother's lead. When they reached the kitchen, they found the woman filling two cups with coffee. "So," she said, her voice loud in the small kitchen, "what do you want to know about Jerry?"

Dean took a cup, sipped at it. "Oh, that's very good." He motioned to Sam to take the other cup. "Try it, Sammy. Best coffee I've had in a while." Dean downed the rest of his cup before Sam could pick the other up. He motioned to the woman to fill it up again.

"Dean!" Sam hissed in his brother's ear. "We're not in a diner!"

Dean's gazed went to the second, untouched, cup of coffee. "Dude, just try it. You won't need any of that fancy crap you usually put in your coffee."

The woman chuckled at them. "I'm sure your brother is exaggerating," she said as she refilled Dean's cup.

"I doubt it," Sam replied, picking up his cup. With the first sip he knew Dean was not exaggerating. It was, without a doubt, the very best coffee he ever tasted. Cream would be an insult.

"Tell me you can buy this," Dean was saying. Sam had to drag his attention from the cup of pleasure in his hands to the current conversation.

The woman laughed, a real laugh this time. "It's my own blend. I run The Grind down on Main."

"If you serve this there, I'll buy a cup," Dean promised.

Sam smiled at his brother's enthusiasm for the coffee. "Uh, ma'am? I'm sorry, but there are a few things we'd like to ask about Jerry. If that's all right?"

"Do you mind, Lilly?" Dean asked, his voice suddenly pitched lower, soothing.

"How did you know I was Lilly?" she asked, mirroring Sam's thoughts.

Dean gave her that brilliant smile. "You look like a Lilly. It's one of my favorite names, right after Mary."

She blushed, pink spots high on her cheekbones. So, that was how Dean did it. He didn't lie when he flirted. And with the looks his brother kept shooting this woman, Sam would not be terribly surprised to be told to go wait in the car.

"We found your entry on the online guest book," Sam explained. "It's how we knew to look you up."

Lilly smoothed her shirt with both hands. "Jerry was a good friend. Really. Despite what people said about him."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean. "And what did people say about him?" Sam asked gently.

She sighed. "That he was unstable, kind of angry. I mean, he probably was, I just never saw him that way. I think he just never got over the death of his brother."

Dean sat straighter. "He had a brother?"

She nodded. "We've been friends since we were kids. We all lived in this really crappy apartment complex downtown. I think it's abandoned now. When Jerry and I were, oh, about seventeen, he and his brother were attacked in the hall just outside their apartment."

"Wait a minute," Sam interrupted. "They had different last names."

Lilly shrugged. "Different fathers, same mother."

"That would do it," Dean mumbled close to the rim of his cup.

"Jerry's parents split up when he was little. His mother remarried, really great guy, and they had another boy. Jerry just doted on both of them. His little brother could do no wrong in his eyes. Well, when his brother was killed it pretty much killed his stepfather too." She sighed. "It was never the same after that. A lot of families moved out right after that, including Jerry's and my family. Jerry and I stayed in touch over the years, sometimes just a card at Christmas, but he was always there if I needed a shoulder to cry on." A sad smile crossed her face. "Or somebody to stand up for me."

"How do you mean?" Dean asked.

"A few years ago I had some trouble with an ex-boyfriend. My husband is more of the let's see if it goes away on its own type. Jerry isn't. Wasn't." Her voice caught. She took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "He came into town and within two days Bob stopped calling. I haven't seen Bob since. I never asked Jerry what he did, I didn't want to know." She wiped away a couple of stray tears. "I guess he was like a big brother to me, too."

"Sounds like a great guy," Sam said, knowing someone just like that sat not two inches to his left.

"I think we have what we need, Lilly," Dean's voice cut through the room. "Thanks so much. I'm sure we'll stop by The Grind before we leave town. This coffee is too good to pass up."

She smiled at them through her watery eyes. "Thanks. I hope I helped."

"You did," Sam assured her. It was pretty obvious who it was now. They had been barking up the wrong tree, Sam realized. Well, technically it was the right tree, just the wrong branch.

He waited until they were in the Impala headed back for the library before he mentioned it. "Well, it was a good thing we went, huh?" Sam asked. "We were after the wrong brother."

"What?" Dean asked, eyes pinned to the road. "What are you talking about? It's obviously Jerry."

Now it was Sam's turn to look at Dean in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Didn't you hear her? It has to be the younger brother. Maybe he wasn't cremated, so we can torch the bones."

Dean's eyes narrowed, but he did not look Sam's way. "Mike said he was cremated."

Sam snorted. "So ol' Mike isn't perfect. Big deal."

"It is a big deal, Sam. If Mike is wrong. Besides, what makes you think it's the younger brother anyway?" Dean demanded. Sam could swear he saw a green glow in his brother's eyes even from the side.

"You want your sunglasses?" he asked, opening the glove compartment. It slammed shut on its own. "Fine! No need to be so touchy!"

"Sam? Why do you think it's the younger brother?" Dean repeated, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

"He was the one who died because of the attack in the building. It stands to reason," Sam replied. "Why would you think it's the older brother?"

Dean cleared his throat. "The attacks started right after he died?"

"And?" Sam prompted. "You obviously think there's more to it." His brother's fingers drummed faster. "Dean?"

"He's avenging his brother's death, okay?" Dean snapped. "He's going after punks who remind him of the ones who killed his brother."

With that outburst, Sam understood that this was exactly what Dean thought he would do if that had happened to them. "Dean, you would never…"

The car swerved wildly, barely dodging a bolt of lightning and a large falling tree branch. The tires screamed in protest as the car spun completely around. They stopped just off the road. Sam's hands were firmly embedded in the dash.

"Oh, crap," he mumbled, wondering how the hell he could fix that. Dean was going to kill him. Sam slowly removed his hands from the deep handprints in the dash.

A low whistle came from his left. "Number one," Dean pointed a finger right in his face, "don't ever tell me what I would and wouldn't do. And yes, Sam, I probably would. God help anyone who even thinks about killing you. Number two," the finger moved to point at the dash, "you're fixing that."

"It's going on your list, isn't it?" Sam asked, inspecting the deep indentions. "I hope you don't need anything in the glove compartment anytime soon."

"I'll make a deal with you," Dean said, pulling out his list. "I'll burn mine if you burn yours."

Sam grabbed his legal pad. Without a second thought, he ripped out his notes on Dean and handed them out. "Here. You burn these and I'll burn yours."

Dean snatched the pages, thrusting his own over. Sam took those notes and popped his door open. Dean joined him on the side of the road. Dean took out his lighter and flicked the flame on. Sam grinned, holding Dean's notes out into the flame. When the flame climbed up the side, licking greedily up the edges, Sam dropped it to the ground. More flaming yellow pages joined it on the roadside gravel. A weight leaned into his shoulder, and Sam felt any hard feelings disperse. Relief and gladness filled him.

"We have a ghost to get rid of," Dean said softly. "Ready?"

The papers curled in the flames, browning and blackening as it was consumed by the fire. "In a minute," Sam replied, leaning back into Dean's shoulder. "Just a minute."


	19. Chapter 19

Psssst – new chapter. Pass it on.

**Chapter Nineteen**

Dean thought about Sam's theory, that it was the younger brother. The violent death of his older brother might be enough to trigger the younger brother's spirit.

"Sam?" Dean asked, watching their notes on each other burn, "what if we're both right?"

"What do you mean?" Sam leaned heavier on his shoulder. Dean would like to be annoyed, but he knew that Sam suddenly felt better. Right before Sam leaned against him his brother was pretty down, but now Sam's emotions were light and carefree. That was pretty weird, but no stranger than anything else in the past few weeks.

"Well, the death of the older brother could trigger the younger brother's spirit, right?" Dean reasoned out loud. "And I'm sure Jerry never got over Ben's death. What if they're in that building, working together?"

Sam turned his head to look at Dean, chewing his lower lip. "That would work. I wonder…" Sam's eyes lit up. "Bet you a hundred that the younger brother wasn't cremated."

"How's that?" Dean asked, marveling at the way Sam's mind worked.

"Let's go," Sam said, moving back to the car.

With a shrug, Dean headed back to the driver's seat. "We're going to find out if the younger brother was buried?" he asked as he reached for the keys.

"No," Sam replied, voice heavy with emotion, "we're going to find out where the younger brother is buried."

Dean wanted to look over, to see what was bothering Sam. Instead he reached out with his emotions. Dark and brooding was normal for Sam, but this felt dark even for his little brother. When Dean reached further in, pushed a little harder, those dark emotions pushed back.

"Sam, you're not getting sick or anything, are you?" he asked, trying to identify the reason behind that darkness.

"Nope. Just ready for this case to be over," Sam snapped. The wave of dark emotions raced from Sam and rolled over Dean, washing him in regret, fear, anxiety, guilt, and anger. Unable to stop himself, Dean shook the dark emotions off.

Remembering Mike's warning about shaking off emotions, Dean tore his eyes from the road to check on Sam. He noticed a few green specks on Sam's shoulder. Dean attempted to reabsorb them by reaching over to brush them off his brother when Sam shouted, "Look out!"

Mentally cursing himself, Dean's eyes snapped back to the road. Right in front of them a man and a woman stood in their path. He stomped on the brake, whipping the wheel hard to the left. Once again his poor baby squealed, protesting her punishment at his hands. After they came to a swift if noisy stop, Dean leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam's voice shook. Dean thought that was perfect, it matched his nerves. "I think you better take a look at this."

Dean cracked his eyes open, peering out Sam's window. The man and woman who stood in the road walked up to the car. The man had perfect features, startling blue eyes, and wild, wind-swept hair.

Dean groaned. "We don't need this right now." He started to open his door when he noticed Sam had not moved. "Are you coming?"

Sam's head twisted from side to side. "I don't think this is my kind of crowd."

"Like it's mine," Dean scoffed softly.

"It is these days," Sam replied, steady eyes boring into him. Dean tried once again to reach out for Sam's emotions, but he felt nothing this time. Sam must have been blocking him again.

Irritated by Sam blocking him and the two figures approaching, Dean swung his door open. He clenched his jaw, attempting to rein in those pesky emotions as he approached Mike.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't jump out in front of my baby like that," Dean said by way of greeting.

"Nice to see you too, Dean," Mike replied, giving Dean a look that could only be interpreted as a warning. "I'd like you to meet someone. Dean, this," Mike turned to the woman, "is Gabriel." But the way Mike said it, it sounded more like 'Gabrielle.'

"As in, Gabriel?" Dean asked, pronouncing it the way Pastor Jim did, like a guy's name.

"The one and only," she stated, her voice strong enough to cut through thunder. "I've been hearing a lot about you, Dean."

Dean had no idea if he was supposed to shake her hand, bow or what. So he nodded his head at her, hoping she or Mike would let him know if it was inappropriate. "I've heard a lot about you, too. I guess most people pronounce your name wrong?"

She smiled at him. "Well, I'm not too picky about that. Unlike Michael."

"That right, Mike?" Dean asked. He smirked at Gabriel's startled reaction. Mike glared at him, briefly. Yeah, that was totally worth it.

Mike cleared his throat and Dean felt the clouds overhead swirl. "I think you know why we're here, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Mike. A flash through his mind. Dean and Mike stood alone in a vast field. There was nothing but stalks of wheat or something as far as he could see.

"What the hell?" Dean asked, not seeing his car or brother or anything but this stupid field.

"I've asked you not to say that!" Mike snapped. "Listen to me very carefully, Dean. Do you know who Gabriel is?"

"Big, bad-ass archangel like you, right?" Dean said with a shrug. "So what?"

Mike stepped forward, his eyes glowing brighter than Dean had ever seen. "Do the names Sodom and Gomorrah ring a bell?" Dean thought about it, shrugged and shook his head. Mike groaned. "How about the burning bush? Voice of God? The one who buried Abraham?" Mike held Dean by both shoulders. "Dean, please, for the love of God, don't challenge her."

"Why?" Dean wanted to tease about what might happen if he took this new angel down too, but Mike really looked scared. "What is it? And where are we?"

"We're in my mind. I figured it would be less cluttered." Mike shrugged. "Please, Dean. Don't challenge her. She's expecting you to, and if you do and she wins…" Tears streamed down Mike's face as his fingers dug into Dean's shoulders. "Promise you won't. There won't be anyone to protect Sam if anything happens to you. It's important."

Unfortunately, Mike did make sense. "You think she's going to provoke me," he said, the realization dawning slowly, along with strong emotions of fear that did not seem familiar.

Mike nodded. "I can almost guarantee it. Just don't let her bait you, Dean. We're going to have to head back soon. She'll suspect."

Dean grabbed Mike by the arm as he tried to move away. "What do you mean, your head is less cluttered?"

Mike glared at him. "I wanted to be sure you paid attention to me, not strippers or a really sexy Impala speeding by."

Dean could not suppress the grin that came over his face. "Okay, you got a point there. Let's go."

The world around flashed with a bright, intense light. Dean winced, throwing up an arm to protect his eyes. Instead of dispersing, the light intensified.

"Dean?" Sam's voice came from someplace beyond the light. Didn't he leave Sam in the car? "Dean!"

Dean squinted in an attempt to open his eyes. Spots danced in his vision, obscuring everything else.

"Don't touch him!" Gabriel shouted from someplace in front of him.

"Sam?" Dean stumbled backward, hoping it was the right direction.

"Right here." He felt the warmth from Sam's emotions, his worry and guilt, close by. Dean reached out, caught an arm. He could tell by the feelings of relief that it was Sam, not to mention that guilt. Dean suspected he could recognize Sam's guilt anywhere.

Dean blinked hard, wishing the spots would disappear. He squeezed his eyes closed, also clutching Sam's arm as he concentrated on his vision. Dean opened his eyes slowly. The spots were gone and Gabriel's face slowly came into focus. She glared furiously at something behind him, which Dean knew instinctively had to be Sam. Even though he knew the object of her anger was Sam, Dean could not help but admire the beauty of that anger. God, he was warped, wasn't he?

"Problem?" he asked, pulling Sam behind him. Of course, Sam stood about a head taller than him so it wasn't like Dean could hide his little brother, but he could shield him. He did recognize more than he let on to Mike. Pastor Jim and Sam used to sit up late at night discussing different aspects of religion. Pastor Jim thought Gabriel might be the angel of death. Mike was right, Dean did not want to challenge her, not with Sam being the stakes.

"What did he do to you?" Gabriel demanded, motioning to Sam.

"What?" Dean asked, hearing Mike and Sam echo his sentiments. "Sam didn't do anything!" He released his hold on Sam to take a step forward. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "I'm still just, you know, getting the hang of things." Dean motioned around with his hands. Since he really had no idea what happened, that seemed as plausible an explanation as any.

Gabriel studied him for a moment. "Yes, I suppose that would make sense." She sounded suspicious, however. "We're here about Samuel."

"Sam," Sam corrected immediately.

"Of course," she replied politely, bowing slightly in acquiescence. Dean plunged his heel back into Sam's foot. The oompf of air at his back screamed success, but he hoped his brother would take a hint. If she scared Mike, they seriously did not want to mess with her. "I have been asked to come here as a representative of the others."

"Why?" Dean asked. "Isn't that what Mike's been doing?" He searched Mike's face for some clue, but that perfect face might have been chiseled in ice for all the emotion it contained at the moment.

"Not lately," Gabriel stated coolly. "We wish to know how Sam attacked you."

Dean grimaced. "I keep telling everyone, it wasn't Sam. It really wasn't." When she continued to glare at him, he added, "It was me."

"That's not possible." A thin smile came over Gabriel's face, and for a moment Dean saw her wearing that same smile and carrying a large, curved blade that blazed with the fury of the sun. When he blinked, the image was gone. "We all felt the attack. Perhaps Sam did not intend to do it, or to take it that far, but we must know so we can prevent it from happening again."

'She's baiting you.' Mike's voice resounded in his head. With those words, Dean understood that Gabriel did not come here with the intent of doing anything to Sam. He was her purpose. Perhaps they saw Dean as the greater threat, and once he was out of the way Sam could be dealt with easily. The memory of Mike's tear streaked face made Dean glance away from her eyes, before he was tempted to take on her challenge. Her eyes were the maddening gray of the sea during a storm, all fury and power. They drew him to her, enticed him to look, to submit or fight.

Dean drew upon that inner strength that had served him so many times in his life to force his gaze away. "We have some research to do," he said simply. "Unless you're going to tell us where the younger brother is buried?"

"You know I can't tell you where he's buried, Dean," Mike said, confirming that Sam was right and Ben had not been cremated. "You'll have to find that on your own."

Dean met Mike's eyes, finding no challenge there. "Does that mean this inquisition is over and we can go?"

Mike looked to Gabriel. She snorted, clearly used to getting her own way, before disappearing. "Yeah," Mike breathed, "you can go. And Dean?"

Dean paused before ushering Sam back to the car. "What?"

A small smile, but one that had warmth in it, spread across Mike's face. "Thanks."

Dean waved a hand, turning to get Sam and drive the hell out of there. "Why does it seem like God hates my car?" he asked.

"What?" Sam asked, blinking very large eyes at him. "What makes you say that?"

Dean shrugged, turning the engine over. "First the semi, then the tree. Now freaking angels just appearing in the road. I'll bet if we'd hit them, my baby would be a little puddle of paint, right about there." Dean pointed out the spot on the road where he first saw them.

Sam shook his head. "Too bad Mike can't ever help us."

"What are you talking about, Sammy? He just told us that you're right, the younger brother was buried and we need to find out where." Dean flashed his brother a grin. "Library?"

Sam nodded at him. "Library."

They drove in silence for a while. As they neared the library, Sam shifted nervously in his seat. "Dean, do you really think we should salt and burn them?"

Now that just sent a chill up Dean's spine. "Them? Sam, the older brother was cremated two months ago."

"I'm thinking he put something in his brother's casket, like a lock of hair or something that would count as remains. So when we burn it, we'll be doing it to both of them," Sam explained.

Dean shuddered. "So that's why the older brother is still around? Dude, remind me…" he broke off. "Nevermind."

"Nevermind what, Dean?" Sam demanded.

Dean shrugged. "Doesn't matter, Sammy. It's not going to happen anyway."

Sam made one of those scoffing noises. "Whatever. So what was all that about back there?"

"What? Gabriel?" Dean asked innocently, wondering if he should share his suspicions with Sam.

"Who else? What did she want?" The demanding tone in Sam's voice went beyond familiar and made the interior of his car claim the word 'home.'

Dean shrugged. "Probably for me to back down, like everybody else."

"So why didn't you?" Sam asked, looking out the window at the approaching library.

"I don't think that would have been a good idea," Dean admitted slowly.

Sam's dark eyes, flashing with intelligence, turned on him. As the younger brother, Sam had years of practice in getting his big brother to do what he wanted, so Dean braced himself. "Why not? Isn't that what we want here?"

Dean shook his head. "Not yet. I have to figure a few things out first."

"Like what?" Sam demanded in that same tone, the one designed to make Dean cave.

"Like finding out where Ben is." Dean hopped out of the car, hoping to end this conversation. He did not know when Mike joined their side, but at the moment Dean felt he could use all the allies they could get. Why any of this would make Mike cry, though, was a mystery. Dean did not like mysteries; they usually spelled nothing but trouble.


	20. Chapter 20

Greetings oddballs!! I am continually amazed there are people who enjoy this as much as I do. Thanks again!!

**Chapter Twenty**

Sam tried to concentrate on their research, but it was a losing battle. He was too preoccupied with other things, like archangels taking a special interest in them. He sighed, leaning back in the hard chair and pressing his palms into his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean's smooth voice drifted through the room, soothing his frayed nerves.

"Sorry Dean," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I just can't concentrate."

"Obviously," Dean snorted. Sam cracked his eyes open. His brother leaned past him to read the computer screen. Right now, viewing Dean without his brother watching, Sam could note the differences. Years of worry seemed to have fallen away, stripping those early wrinkles from around his eyes. His skin not only seemed more youthful but almost shone with a healthy radiance. Dean's eyes danced as he read the computer screen.

"Quit staring," Dean snapped, "it's creepy."

Sam forced his gaze back to the monitor. "Find anything?"

"Yep." Dean pointed to an article. "Right here. Ben was buried in a cemetery not too far from the apartment building." Bright green eyes turned on him. "Ready?"

Sam shrugged. "As I'll ever be." Translation: Hell No. All Sam felt like doing was curling up on that filthy mattress back at the house and sleeping for a month. By the expression on Dean's face Sam knew his brother did not buy it for an instant, but they were going. Dean must want this hunt over as much as he did.

He followed his big brother out to the car, enjoying being in Dean's wake. Yeah, all the crap with their so-called abilities changed everything, but sometimes the more things changed the more they stayed the same. Dean literally put himself between Sam and Gabriel. The Gabriel. Gabriel the angel of death and the vengeful hand of God. He wondered if Dean realized who she was.

"Yeah, I knew," Dean said, sounding a little too casual for his liking.

"But if you knew…" Sam protested, folding his legs in and pulling his car door closed.

"Trust me, Sam. I did the right thing. It could have gone much, much worse. She wasn't even after you this time," he said, slamming the door a little harder than normal.

"This time?" Sam asked. "Wait, you mean she was after you?" Anger flowed easily these days and now it bubbled up from that bottomless well, seeping through his defenses and pooling in his extremities.

"Easy, tiger," Dean warned. "It's not like she's here now anyway. Besides," one finger waved in Sam's face though Dean's eyes never left the road, "I don't want you so much as looking at her, you hear me?"

"Dean, I'm not just going to run away…" Sam began to protest when Dean cut him off.

"Yes you are. She scares Mike, therefore we are steering way clear of her." That was the tone Dean always used when he was really serious, when he insisted on following Dad's orders.

"Wait a minute," Sam said as a new realization struck him. "Mike warned you to stay away from her, didn't he? When?"

Dean shrugged, refusing to look over, although that was pretty normal these days.

"When Dean? If he stopped time, Gabriel would have known." Sam pondered that in Dean's silence. "New trick?"

He waited for Dean's response. "Wheat. The guy has wheat in his head."

Okay, that was not anywhere close to what Sam expected. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing but wheat," Dean continued. "Miles and miles of wheat, all in his head." One hand waved in the air near Dean's ear. "Weirdest thing I've ever seen, and that's saying something."

"In his head?" Sam wondered. "You were in Michael's head?"

"I think he likes you, Sam," Dean said. Before Sam could respond to that, Dean continued with, "Really. He can't lie, and in his head I don't think he can mask his emotions either." Dean's fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

"Oh?" Dean flinched. Yep, his brother said a little more than he intended. "What emotions couldn't he mask, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "I probably shouldn't… He's worried about us. That's all."

"If that's all, then why shouldn't you tell me?" Sam demanded. God, Dean really was turning into Dad! Was his brother actually resorting to that need-to-know crap?

"Dude, relax." Dean's hand flew out, slapped him in the shoulder. "What's eating you, anyway?"

The instant his brother's hand made contact all those bitter emotions, the anger and resentment, shattered. Before Dean could pull his hand away, Sam grabbed it. It was starting to be clear that the longer they had any kind of physical contact, the longer it took for those dark thoughts to come back. Right now, Sam wanted more than anything to hang on to the light Dean represented.

"Uh, Sam?"

"What?" Sam clutched Dean's hand in his, knuckles turning white with the exertion.

"Can I have my hand back?"

Sam shook his head. "Not yet."

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, uh, would you mind at least letting some blood flow in there?"

Sam felt Dean's fingers wriggle in his grasp. He loosened his grip, sensing Dean's relief. Had he hurt his brother? Sam watched Dean's emotions for signs of pain or fear, but he only saw regular Dean. He could tell his brother was concerned, but would not ask. Sam experimentally slacked his hold on Dean. Those dark thoughts and emotions rose instantly. Panicked, Sam slammed his fingers around Dean's wrist and the darkness scuttled away, hiding in the recesses of his subconscious.

"Sam, we are not walking into a graveyard at night holding hands. I'm sorry, but it's just not happening," Dean's words intruded on Sam's thoughts.

Sam wanted to laugh at that, but the thought of releasing Dean was enough to hold any jocularity at bay. "I'll be okay by then," he insisted, lowering their hands to the seat between them. Sam kept his fingers wrapped loosely around Dean's wrist for the duration of their drive. He noticed Dean stealing glances at him while driving through town, something Dean had not done since driving his car off the road, so he knew Dean had to be really worried. Sam wanted to reassure his brother that he was fine, there was nothing wrong. Unfortunately, he did not think he could do that convincingly, even though he was the brother who could lie.

* * *

Okay, this was officially the weirdest thing ever. Sam never, ever, even when he was a little kid, willingly held hands. Now Sam clung to Dean's hand like a freaking lifeline. Yeah, that was enough to freak him out, not that he was going to let Sam in on that little secret. They needed this hunt to be over. Now. He knew exactly how tired Sam felt, like he needed to sleep for a hundred years, but not now. Right now they had to finish this hunt and move on.

There was something about these brothers who were bonded in death that made Dean's skin crawl. He glanced over at Sam again, and except for the fact they were holding hands like a couple of girls, his brother appeared perfectly normal. Ha. Like that word should even apply to them anymore. Dean knew, deep in his gut, it was the older brother who was causing all the trouble at that abandoned apartment building. Not that he could really blame the guy. He understood Sam's reluctance to do a full salt and burn, this whole thing hit way too close to home.

What if there was another way? Dean pulled off into a grocery store parking lot.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Sam asked, sounding so much like he did when they were just kids, before they were out hunting things that hid in the dark.

"Thinking." Dean stared out the front windshield. "What if we summoned them? The brothers?"

"Why?" The pressure on his wrist shifted as Sam turned to look at him. "What good would that do?"

"Well, I was thinking that if the younger brother was anything like you, he'd be plenty pissed at Jerry for all of this." Dean drummed the fingers of his free hand on the steering wheel. "He might be able to stop it, get them both to cross over."

"Dean," Sam sounded so weary and tired it made Dean want to yawn in sympathy, "it's the younger brother doing it. I'm sure of it."

"Why?" Dean did not bother toning down his eyes when he looked at Sam this time, wanting to see all that he could. "How could you possibly be sure of something like that?"

"You're, uh…" Sam motioned to his own eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know, like why you think it's Ben," Dean demanded.

Sam winced, looking at Dean through his long bangs. "Because older brothers are always protective and younger brothers are destructive." Before Dean could respond, Sam's hands flew into the air to wave expressively. "I mean, just look at me! I ruin everything! I broke up our family, I screwed up my education, Jessica died because of me, Mom and Dad died because of me, and …"

Before Sam could go any further, lightning struck just outside his door. The pavement only feet from Sam's window sizzled and hissed with the dispersed energy. Sam lifted his head to glare at Dean. "Do you think you can stop interrupting me for five damn minutes?" he hissed.

Dean clenched his hands closed, realizing only then that Sam was no longer hanging on to him. Sam seemed to be immersed in a dark cloud of self-crimination and doubt.

"I might, if you were making any sense," Dean snapped back, unable to control his own anger. His brother could be really dense for a genius. "If it isn't both of them working together, then it's Jerry. Ben is probably trapped in there and he's trying to protect his little brother from the big, bad, scary world." He leaned in close, until he could smell Sam's breath. "I'd probably do the exact same thing."

Sam turned his head away, mumbling something.

"What was that?" he demanded.

Sam shook his head, staring out the window.

"So I was thinking, before I was so rudely interrupted," Dean continued, "that if we summon them, maybe little brother can work his little brother magic and get big brother to cross over."

Sam sighed, shrugging. "Yeah, whatever. I just don't think it will work."

"Why not?" Dean asked. "I try all your hair-brained ideas."

"I didn't say I wouldn't try it, Dean!" Sam shouted, his voice way too large for the inside of the Impala. "I just said it wouldn't work!"

Dean sucked in a breath and held it. He did not know if this was his anger, Sam's, or both combined, but it was pretty obvious it was taking over. Dean closed his eyes in an attempt to rein in all of his emotions, put them on lock-down before they blew up his beautiful car.

"We need a backup plan," Sam said, breaking the silence. "In case it doesn't work."

Dean nodded, risking opening his eyes. "Salt and burn?"

Sam nodded back. "Fine," he breathed out.

"You know what we need?" Dean asked, nodding at the store. "If you don't feel like going in, I can do it. I still have some cash."

Sam shook his head. "I'll go. You, uh, are coming, right?"

"Of course," Dean said, pushing his door open. These moods of Sam's were getting worse. Dean could not imagine what might be causing them, except that they were dark. Really dark. As he walked by Sam into the store, where his thoughts might be safe just from the fact they were surrounded by people, Dean tried to understand where these moods were coming from. As they picked up a few more canisters of salt, he remembered the darkness that fought him when he tried healing Sam.

Dean froze, his hand clutching the salt. What the hell was that? And why had Mike been so relieved Sam could see the healing light? Was that what all this crap with Gabriel was about?

A hand in his face distracted his thoughts. "Dean!" Sam hissed. "Hello?" Sam's hand waved in his face again.

Dean batted the hand away. "What?"

"Dude," Sam's voice dropped to a whisper, "you totally zoned out there. What happened?" Sam glanced around suspiciously. "Was someone here?"

Dean shook his head. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Well, that's a first," Sam snapped, but he still looked concerned. His dark eyes weighed heavily on Dean.

Dean shook himself, punched Sam lightly on the shoulder. "What do we still need? Candles?"

Sam nodded slowly. "And lighter fluid."

"Meet you at the checkout," he said, moving away from his brother. Dean could feel Sam's eyes on his back as he looked for the right aisle for candles. When he located the right aisle Dean ducked into it, wanting to escape Sam's penetrating gaze for a few seconds. He found some white candles that should work.

"Dean?" Mike's voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.

"Not again," he grumbled, looking around.

A large man wearing stained blue coveralls with wild, dark hair rounded the corner. He smiled when he saw Dean, brilliant blue eyes glowing softly. "So you think that's it, huh?" he asked, motioning to the candles.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. Sam thinks I'm crazy." He sighed. "He's probably right. Sam's the one who usually comes up with this kind of stuff."

"Don't sell yourself short, now," Mike chastised, a frown marring that perfect face. "What would Bobby say?"

Dean shrugged. "Probably that we're both idiots and that…" He stared at Mike. "How do you know about Bobby?"

Mike stepped closer. That used to intimidate Dean, make him feel like he was in over his head. Now he felt secure, confident, the closer Mike came. It was kind of weird, but at the moment it did not bother him. Mike smiled and warm feelings washed over him. "I know your father, remember?"

Dean gave a short, self-conscious chuckle. "Right. Forgot about that."

Mike shook his head, wild hair bouncing around. "You're really something sometimes, Dean. I've been thinking about dropping in on him, just to talk. Would you have a problem with that?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you asking permission?"

Mike shrugged. "There are rules. I figure Bobby probably falls under your protection? Like Sam?"

Dean shifted one shoulder. He had no idea he could just declare people under his protection.

"You can," Mike replied with a nod.

Dean gave him a strong look. "You know I hate that."

Mike blew out a breath. "It's not like I'm doing it on purpose anymore, Dean." He gave Dean a small shrug. "I really can't help it. So? Is he?"

Dean studied Mike for a moment before he answered, knowing full well what his answer would be. "Yes." Dean looked deep into Mike's eyes and an understanding of the type of conversation Mike wanted seeped into his mind. "And yes."

Mike's eyebrows lifted. "So I can go talk to him?"

"I said yes. Now, are we missing anything else?" His eyes scanned the shelves in front of him. He snagged a couple of packages of batteries for their flashlights. "Gonna wait long enough for me to warn him?"

Mike laughed. "Nah. What would you say?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, give me about twenty minutes anyway, so I can call him."

"Fine. Thanks, Dean."

When he glanced that way again, Mike was gone. Dean checked his watch. He only had twenty minutes before Mike showed up at Bobby's. He tried not to look rushed as he headed over to meet Sam by the checkout.

Sam was already in line when Dean joined him. Sam gave him an odd look. "Something happen?" he whispered.

"You're driving," Dean said simply, adding his purchases to Sam's. "I have to call Bobby."

"Why?" Sam looked at him quizzically. "Want to run this by him?"

Dean had not thought of that. "I could do that."

Sam dogged him all the way out to the car, but Dean just waved him off until they were safely inside the Impala. "Mike is going to pay Bobby a visit and I want to warn him first."

"Why?" Sam asked, openly staring at Dean.

Dean stared back. "I don't think Bobby would appreciate an archangel arriving out of the blue without some warning."

"No," Sam shook his head, hair whipping across his eyes, "I meant, why does Mike want to see Bobby."

"Oh." Dean paused in searching through his cell phone list for Bobby's number. "I don't know. I didn't ask."

"What!" Sam slammed his hands on the steering wheel.

"Hey!" Dean leaned forward, getting in Sam's face. "I'm still not too happy about the dash, don't you dare screw that up, too."

Sam turned guilty eyes on the two imprints in the dash. "I'll fix that. As soon as I figure out how."

Dean ran a hand over his head. "Just tell me what's bugging you."

"Why didn't you ask Mike why he wants to talk to Bobby?" Sam asked, his words measured like he was just keeping his temper in check.

"It didn't seem important," Dean replied, wondering why Sam was so upset.

"Not important?" Sam's eyes bugged out. Dean might have laughed if Sam didn't seem so…disturbed. "How can Mike visiting Bobby not be important?"

Dean shrugged. "He asked first. If he were up to something, he wouldn't have asked."

Sam's mouth flopped open and closed a few times. "Fine," Sam finally said, when he regained control of his jaw. "Call him. I want to hear this." Sam crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at Dean.

"The reason I asked you to drive was so we wouldn't lose any time because of this call." Dean motioned towards the road. "You gonna drive or what?"

Sam huffed loudly, but he started the engine. Dean's finger trembled as he pressed the call button on his cell. He had to wait for Bobby's phone to ring several times before his old friend picked up.

"Yeah?"

Dean grinned. Bobby always assumed he knew whoever was calling. "Hey, Bobby. It's Dean."

"Dean! Well, I haven't heard from you boys in a while. How the hell are ya?"

Dean winced at Bobby's word choice. Funny, certain words never bothered him before. "We're okay," he replied, fully aware of the glare Sam gave him over that one. "Listen, I just wanted to let you know that a friend of mine is going to be, ah, stopping by."

"Is this friend a hunter?" Bobby asked. Well that was an understandable assumption.

"Uh, no." Dean squirmed uncomfortably. "Not exactly, but he does know about it. He's been finding some of our jobs."

"Really?" Bobby did not sound pleased. "How's that?"

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. He stole a glance at Sam's triumphant face. "It'd probably be better if Mike explains it in person. I just didn't want him to show up without warning."

"Why?" Bobby demanded. Dean could picture his friend's confused face at the other end of this conversation. "You boys aren't dealing with demons, are you? Do you think this Mike guy is possessed?"

"No!" Dean laughed at the suggestion. "No, Bobby, relax. No demons involved. Look, Mike isn't a threat, I swear. Just answer any questions he has, if you want to. Mike can be a real pain in the ass, so I'll understand if you don't even want to talk to him."

"Friend of yours that you don't care if I talk to. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, Dean," Bobby chided.

"Oh, if he gets to be too much of a pain in the ass, just remind him about his harp lessons," Dean suggested, grinning. He wished he could see the look on Mike's face when Bobby said that.

"Harp lessons. Right. Uh, Dean?"

"Yeah, Bobby?" Dean took a closer look at those handprints in his dash. He did not see any way to fix that kind of damage.

"You do plan on telling me whatever is going on, right?"

Dean fingered one of the handprints. "Bobby, can you keep an eye out for a new dash for my car? I think this one needs to be replaced."

Bobby sighed. "Fine. Just promise me that whatever you boys are in the middle of, you'll be careful? Well, okay, I know better than that. Promise me you're being smart about it."

"We're trying, Bobby," Dean promised. "We're really trying."


	21. Chapter 21

Here it comes, another update! Next one will post really soon, I have it half written.

**Chapter Twenty-one**

"What are we trying?" Sam demanded as Dean slid the phone into a pocket.

"That we're being smart about this," Dean replied evenly, leaning forward to inspect the dash again.

Dean being smart about something? Sam snorted through his nose. That would be the day. Even Bobby knew he was the smart one. Hell, Dean usually admitted that too, when he wasn't busy calling Sam a girl.

"And how exactly are we being smart about this?" Sam asked, doing his level best not to reach over and throttle his brother right now.

"Well, first off, we're summoning the brothers to see if we can get them to just cross over. I prefer that to a full salt and burn, don't you?" Dean asked.

How could his brother sound so frigging calm right now? "That's not what I meant!" Sam snapped. He stopped to give himself a moment. Waves of serenity flowed off Dean, as well as confusion. "I'm talking about how you're dealing with Mike." Sam spat the name out, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Dude, what is your problem? He was your friend first." He glanced over at his brother. Yep, Dean's eyes had that 'irritated' glow. Like an empath really needed that neon sign. "Sometimes I just don't get you, Sam."

Sam huffed loudly. "Join the club," he muttered under his breath. "So why didn't you tell Bobby about Mike?"

"I did," Dean replied, that defensive tone in his voice.

"Don't pull that crap with me, Dean. You know what I mean." Sam gritted his teeth against the fresh surge of anger. What was going on here? When did he become the hothead and Dean the voice of reason? When did the world turn upside down and inside out?

Dean sighed again. "Right, and have Bobby jump in his truck and head out here to exorcise me? I don't think so, Sam." Dean leaned back in the seat, turning to look out the passenger window. "Besides, I think Bobby can handle Mike just fine. Now, whether or not Mike can handle Bobby…" Dean chuckled, shaking his head.

"I don't see how you can be so calm about this, Dean!" Sam felt at his wit's end with his brother. What an ass. "What if Mike does something to Bobby?" he demanded. "We won't be able to do anything about it!"

Sam wanted to pound on the dash, but he was scared to. Honestly, he no longer knew what he was capable of. How Dean could just allow something as dangerous as Mike to go see Bobby was beyond him. It made his blood boil, but he had to keep it under control. If he did not handle Dean's baby right, he would be banned from driving again. On the other hand, what did he care? It was just a stupid car. If Dean was driving it meant he could read, research or sleep anyway. Wasn't it Dean's job to drive? Seriously, he had to do all the research. The least Dean could do was get them from point A to point B.

"Sam?" Dean's voice cut through his internal rant, crystal clear. "What are you talking about? Mike can't do anything to Bobby."

Sam shot Dean a hard look, but the fact his brother could not lie was one of those terrible facts that kept getting in the way of his otherwise justified rants. "Why not?"

Dean cleared his throat and shifted in the seat.

"Dean?" Sam waited, but his brother offered nothing. "Dean, why can't Mike hurt Bobby? You better tell me, or I'll just keep asking. And asking. And asking." He felt Dean's annoyance. "You know I'll do it."

Dean groaned from his right. "Pain in my ass," his brother grumbled. Sam suppressed his victory smile, knowing it might delay Dean's answer. "Because Bobby is protected."

Sam stole another glance at his brother. "You mean, as in the protections he has on the house?" Sam tried to keep one eye on the road and the other on his brother.

Dean shrugged. "Sort of."

"Dean, you're turning into a bigger pain in the ass than Mike," Sam snapped.

Dean chuckled, that older brother annoying chuckle. "Dude, where irritating you is concerned, Mike is an amateur."

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"I could give him pointers," Dean offered.

"Dean," Sam swallowed hard, desperately pushing back that anger which flowed far too easily now. He knew now that touching Dean would push it back, but he suspected it also freaked his brother out. Not to mention the fact it freaked him out too. Really – holding hands? He could do better than that. No wonder Dean kept calling him a girl. "Come on, man. I don't need that."

"Fine, Sammy. Whatever you say," Dean replied. "Check it out. I'll bet I could get a good pool game in there." He pointed out a rough looking bar with a sign proclaiming tournament pool.

"Forget it," Sam snapped. "Not after what happened last time."

"Last time? Sam, that poor schmuck needed our help." Dean sounded way too calm. "He's lucky we showed up."

Sam gripped the wheel, counting backwards from ten. "Why are you being so calm about all this?"

Dean shrugged, turning serious eyes on him. "Well, you're stressing out enough for both of us."

Sam clamped his mouth shut, his jaw muscles protesting the extra workout. "Where are we going?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "The building or the graveyard?"

"Graveyard," Dean replied, voice still cool and calm. "We don't want to summon them on their home turf."

Sam nodded, his neck stiff. It wasn't like this stupid summoning would work anyway. Even if Dean was right, what hope did the younger brother have of convincing his older brother of anything? The real world just didn't work that way and that, above everything else, really ticked him off.

* * *

Bobby stared at his phone for several minutes after hanging up with Dean. The boy's voice sounded, well, different. It was definitely Dean, he was certain of that, but something had changed since the last time he saw those boys.

He hoped those boys weren't in over their heads in something. They tended to do that. Of course, that was usually John's fault. The man had been so intent on protecting his sons, he never bothered to really teach them about everything out there. Hell, up until a year or two ago, both boys thought vampires were just a myth. That was just foolhardy.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. Bobby walked around his desk. He peeked through the window set in his door. "Who is it?" he demanded through the nice, solid wood.

The man standing on the other side of the door was a big guy, but not huge, with messy dark hair and sharp blue eyes. He almost looked too pretty to be real. How did these people find Dean?

"Michael." His voice was smooth and comforting. Bobby shook off the comforting thoughts, hoping the man drank beer. Hiding holy water in beer was highly effective. "I believe Dean called?"

Bobby pulled the door open, eyeing the man critically. "You're Mike?"

The man blew out a sigh. "I see Dean did call you. Yes, I am Mike." He did not sound happy about the nickname.

Bobby chuckled, allowing the man to walk into his home. "Can I get you something to drink? Beer?"

The man shook his head. "Water would be fine. Thank you."

Bobby smiled. Water? That made things much easier. He tried not to look rushed as he headed into the kitchen to fix a glass of holy water for his visitor. If this guy could tolerate it, then Dean was right and there was no demon here. He handed over the glass of water with his best not-trying-to-look-innocent smile. It usually worked.

Mike accepted the glass and downed it in one gulp. His eyes opened wide and glowed faintly blue. Bobby gasped, taking a step back. "That was wonderful!" Mike gushed. "I don't suppose I can have more?"

Bobby took the glass back with a trembling hand. "What are you?" he whispered.

"I told you," the man replied with a brilliant smile, "I'm Michael."

Bobby shook his head. "Can't be," he managed to whisper, stumbling backward until his back hit the wall.

"Yes, it can," Michael insisted. He stepped forward, blue eyes piercing right through Bobby. "And I'd really like to talk to you about Sam. About his childhood." Then a smile wiped away all signs of hostility. "I'm just trying to help."

Bobby's hands shook so bad he lost his grip on the glass. It tumbled to the floor, shattering in a million pieces. Michael snapped his fingers and the glass reversed, the chunks and slivers reforming into a drinking glass in Michael's hand. "It would be a shame to destroy a vessel that has held Holy Water," he said, setting it on one of the stacks of books Bobby had nearby. From the tone of Michael's voice, Bobby could hear he capitalized the words Holy Water.

Bobby swallowed hard. "What do you want with Sam?" He tried to sound tough but this wasn't some demonic creature. This was a real, live, honest-to-god archangel, and he had no idea how to act.

Michael motioned to Bobby's couch. "Just to talk. Really, I'm trying to help. I kind of have a soft spot for Winchesters."

"So you could tell that was holy water, huh?" he asked weakly, sinking into the worn cushions. Last time the boys stayed here, he remembered, Dean spent most evenings on this very couch watching terrible old horror movies.

Michael smiled at him again, but it did nothing to reassure Bobby. Did Dean know? Then he came to that awful realization, this was why Dean bothered to even call. He knew. Bobby was going to find that boy and throttle him.

"What did you expect him to tell you? That an angel would be visiting?" Michael asked. "He probably thought you'd head out to exorcise him."

"I probably would've," Bobby mumbled.

"Well, now that we have that settled." A brilliant smile covered Michael's flawless face. "Tell me about Sam. Every good thing you can possibly remember."

Bobby rubbed at his temple, pushing his hat back on his head. "Uh…okay. Going how far back?"

"From the beginning," Michael replied, settling next to Bobby on the couch. "I want to hear everything. We have plenty of time."

* * *

Sam set out the candles in the proper formation over Ben's grave. This was stupid, he told himself, there was no way it could work. But Dean was right, when he had a strange idea his brother always went with him on it, so doing this for Dean was the least he could do. Then why did it irritate him this bad?

Sam rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans, hoping his extreme irritation did not show too much. Dean lounged by the headstone, keeping a sharp eye out for passersby. It was not quite dark, so there could still be visitors out.

"When do you want to do it?" he asked, his voice sounding sharp even to his own ears.

Dean winced at him. "Now. Let's get this over with."

Sam nodded, standing. He held the book with the summoning ritual in one hand as he read the ancient Latin. When he finished, the grave looked the same as it had before. He shot Dean a questioning look, wondering if he should go back to the car for the shovels.

Dean shook his head, nodded towards a couple walking away from a grave in the darkening graveyard. If they got the shovels out now, they would undoubtedly be spotted. Sam wanted to growl, throw this useless book to the ground and use it to torch these stupid brothers. Who the hell names their kids after those ice cream guys anyway?

So now they had to wait. Great. Dean wasn't the most patient person, maybe he would come up with a way to sneak the shovels over. Sam watched his brother, expecting a mischievous grin and a crinkling around those green eyes that typically meant they would be committing a felony all in the name of saving lives. Instead Dean ran one hand over Ben's full name and the words 'beloved brother.'

The candles on the ground flickered. Sam stared at those little flames, trying to distract himself from how much his big brother had changed. He would give anything for Dean to start acting normal again. Well, you know, normal for Dean. This nice guy routine grated on his last nerve, especially where that jackass Mike was concerned.

He watched the tiny candle flames intently, as though they could whisper the answer to this haunting. The flames flickered again. Gray mist billowed up from just under the headstone. Dean jumped back, moved to stand beside Sam. Well, at least they were in this stupid idea together. And would probably both pay for it by being flung headfirst into the nearest headstones. Dean would break his, as hard as that skull had to be.

A boy, pretty young, early teens, formed out of the mist. Except for the fact he was translucent, Sam might think he was just out here visiting a grave. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, similar to what he and Dean had worn their whole lives. Yeah, no resemblance there, nothing to find creepy at all.

"Who are you?" he asked, looking genuinely afraid.

"I'm Dean," big brother said, taking a single step forward. "This is my brother, Sam. Are you Ben?"

The boy nodded, looking around for something. "Have you seen my brother? He said he wouldn't leave me."

Dean turned his head away from Ben to give Sam a knowing look. This kid did appear to need protecting, just like Dean said. Sam still didn't think it added up.

"Didn't you leave him back at the building?" Sam demanded, keeping one hand ready to yank his brother away from this ghost if it made one false move. Did false moves really apply to ghosts? Their lives were so screwed. "Or did he even come back after he died?" The ghost's eyes blazed with fury. "That's it, isn't it? He crossed over, without you, and left you here all alone."

"Sam," Dean whispered, motioning to him.

"No, Dean!" Sam snapped, so damned tired of all this foolishness. "We're going to salt and burn him, right now!"

"Uh, Sam?" Dean motioned again to the area behind Sam.

Sam turned his head slowly. Another ghostly figure stood behind him, only this one was much larger and older and, if he had to guess, probably a lot angrier. At least that last part was typical of older brothers. Well, you know, normally, when his older brother wasn't infected by some meddling, know-it-all archangel. So he wasn't really surprised when he felt that too familiar feeling of being yanked off his feet and thrown backwards. Sam just hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.

tbc…soon…


	22. Chapter 22

_In the beginning the world was without form, and void. And God said "Let there be light." And God separated the light from the dark. And did two loads of laundry.__**- Kevin Krisciunas**_

Okay, let's do a little laundry, people!! (For those of you feeling Sam needs some anger management classes, you're right. But there's a reason for it. It's coming. Honest. I swear on Mike's harp.)

**Chapter Twenty-two**

Dean watched his brother thrown backwards by an invisible force. Great. Sam and his big-frigging-mouth. He imagined a nice soft mattress between Sam and that crypt he was headed for. Sam stopped a few feet shy of the marble surface, a look of shock on his face. Well, he reasoned, that was what happened when you ignored your big brother. Kind of like this mess they were in right now.

Dean turned to face Jerry. The ghost eyes blazed with anger and hatred. But Dean knew there was fear in there, too. There had to be.

"We're hunters," he explained to the specter.

The ghost flashed out of existence. Dean looked for the younger brother, who was trapped in the area between the candles. As he expected, the older brother reappeared just in front of the boy. Translucent hands balled into fists.

"You won't hurt my brother," he snarled, "not again."

Dean shook his head. "You two can't keep hurting people who go into that building." He cleared his throat, very uncomfortable. Something brushed his shoulder. Without looking, he knew Sam stood beside him.

"You're killing people," Sam accused. Dean sensed the anger flowing through his brother, wondering if there was something he could do about it. "You have to stop."

The two ghosts blended for a moment, upping Dean's freak-out factor.

"They hurt my brother," Jerry stated, hovering in front of his brother. "Never again, I promised."

Dean waited for Sam to say something sweet and convincing, but his brother was strangely silent. Then a thought hit Dean. "Sam? Do you think they know?"

Sam shuddered beside him. Dean felt an urge to grab his brother by the hand, but that was too girly for words. "Know what?" Sam ground out.

Honestly, this anger thing of Sam's, it was disturbing. "That they're dead," he whispered.

Sam turned to glare at him. "Of course they know! You think they're killing people by accident?"

"Cool it, Sam," Dean snapped. He watched the reactions of the ghosts.

"Jerry?" The younger one asked, staring strangely at the older brother. "Is it true?"

The older brother glared at them not bothering to hide exactly what he thought of them. "No," he snapped. "You're fine."

"Don't!" Sam shouted, pointing at Jerry. "He doesn't want you to just tell him what he wants to hear, he wants the truth! Tell him!" When Jerry did not say anything, Sam continued with, "You're the reason he's still here."

The calm and cold tone of Sam's voice sent a shiver down Dean's spine. "Sam? Want to share with the group?"

Sam's continued to glare at the ghosts. "He didn't want to leave without his big brother, so he never crossed over."

That did make sense. "So when Jerry died, he didn't cross over either because his little brother wasn't there." Dean looked right at Jerry. "Don't blame you there."

"Shut up!" Jerry screamed. The wind around them picked up, howled through the trees. "He's fine! Ben is just fine!" A large oak stood maybe twenty feet away. Its branches twisted and writhed, the leaves shooting off and riding the violent currents, tiny green boats adrift in a storming sea.

Dean had no idea what losing your little brother would do to you. Sure Sam left for college, but he knew his brother was alive and well. And when he didn't feel sure, he and Dad checked up on Sammy. Your brother dying would have to be the worst, the most horrible thing to experience. He suspected Jerry must have buried it most of the time, refusing to acknowledge it was even true. It was probably the only way he survived as long as he did.

"Did he ever answer?" Dean asked softly. When his voice cut through the turmoil of wind it surprised him, but just barely. Maybe that should bother him, that he was getting used to these changes. Jerry glared at him, silent. "When you used to talk to him," Dean continued, "did Ben ever answer?"

Ben pushed through his older brother, until their faces merged. "Of course," Ben replied, his voice a strange mixture of boy and adult, "I always answered my big brother."

Dean stumbled back a step, snagging Sam's jacket to pull his brother further away. He really didn't count on both brothers being crazy. He might not have noticed the candles blowing out, except for the fact they all went out at once.

The merged form of Ben and Jerry, and Dean was no longer sure which one was in control, charged at them. Dean had the impression that they wanted Sam for some reason. He clamped a hand around the back of Sam's neck, drawing him closer than he had ever dared before.

* * *

Sam blinked and in that instant the graveyard complete with an angry ghost team, of all things, vanished. In its place was a cluttered room. Sam glanced around. Posters for bad horror and monster movies covered the walls. One for a movie called "Ghost Ship" looked the most recent, layered on top of several others.

Huge boxes, filled to the brim with papers and objects sticking out, were stacked along the walls. The strange thing was that there was no door that he could see. Sam suspected Dean did this, but he had no idea where his brother might have taken him. The one thing he was sure of, though, was that he was safe here.

There were no chairs in the room, so Sam folded his long legs up to sit on the floor. He studied the boxes surrounding him. Some were labeled. One with the name 'Cassie', a large wooden box with a padlock, caught his eye.

"Oh, crap," he whispered to himself, his eyes darting across the walls again. "Don't tell me…" Now that he really studied those movie posters, a few did look familiar. Crap. Dean did say he was in Mike's head, didn't he?

When Dean did not show up in the room right away, Sam got curious. He never had been able to control his curiosity. Cardboard boxes without labels were stacked neatly in one corner, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Unable to help himself, after all Dean shouldn't have stuck him here if he didn't want Sam to look, Sam stood and carefully pulled off the top box.

With a guilty glance around to make sure he was still alone, Sam opened it. Right on top was a worn brown teddy bear. Confused, Sam took it out. It was missing an eye and the hard plastic nose, and stuffing leaked from a busted seam in the leg. Wondering why it would be here, Sam set it aside. The rest of the box was full of papers, and the one on top was very familiar. He picked it up, looking at his acceptance letter to Stanford. Oh, crap, crap, crap. His eyes darted back to the interior of the box. The rest of it held report cards and papers he had written over the years. Yep, this was his box. He eyed the stack of boxes. Were they all his?

Unable to stop now, Sam lined the boxes up across the room. One by one he opened them. Each had some childhood memento on top, holding down memories. Apparently Dean liked thinking about him as a kid, if these boxes were anything to go by. They were surprisingly organized. One was nothing but embarrassing pictures of Sam. Some had him making goofy faces while others were candid shots of things Dean did to him, like him sleeping with the plastic spoon in his mouth. Judging by the flaps on this box, it was opened regularly. Another held all kinds of memories from their childhood, most of which Sam had a completely different take on. It was kind of interesting to see these things from Dean's point of view, to really see how Dean felt about the way Dad raised them. Not that Dean thinking of Dad as some kind of superhero should be a revelation.

The last box, judging by how worn the edges were and how the corners were beaten in and rounded, had to be the oldest. At the very least, it was the one Dean wanted to keep on the bottom. Unlike the others, it was taped shut. It was light so Sam lifted it and shook. He heard voices inside. Straining his ears, Sam could just make out Dad and someone shouting at each other. Wait, was that him?

Sam checked his pockets for his penknife. They were empty, he didn't even have his wallet on him. Sam studied the box for a moment. Since he had that bad habit of chewing his nails, he didn't even have a nail capable of peeling the tape up. How was he going to get this box open? He studied it for a while. This box had to hold memories Dean did not want to remember, but had trouble forgetting. That particular combination Sam found troubling.

As he studied the box, Sam noticed a tiny edge of the tape sticking out over one of the corners. Sam picked at it, using his single-minded determination to work the tape off that side. Finally he had enough to grab. He pulled it off the top carefully, wondering how a screaming memory was going to work. It would not be like the others, mementos and papers and pictures. Like a movie, maybe?

Despite the fact it was something Dean tried to bury, Sam grinned at the thought. Watching a memory like a movie would be pretty cool. He hesitated once the tape was off the flaps. Dean really should have secured it better than this, he told himself.

Sam sat in the floor, the box between his legs. This was an invasion of privacy. Hell, just being here was an invasion of privacy, so why not? His hand hovered just over the freed flap as he wondered how guilty he would feel afterwards. This memory was definitely about him and Dad and one of their fights. All of their fights? He looked over the box again. It would need to be much bigger to hold all their fights. Sam decided it had to be that last fight when he left for college.

Okay, he could do this. Sam prepared himself for Dean's perspective on that, knowing it would only heap more guilt on him. Him leaving for college had to be one of Dean's worst memories, Sam knew that as well as he knew the date the Declaration of Independence was signed. Yes, he should see this from Dean's perspective. It would help him understand his brother better and show him how to assure Dean he would not quit their family again. He knew he was seriously lacking in the reassuring Dean department.

With a deep breath, Sam opened the box. The room shifted into a nearly barren apartment. Sam frowned at the change. This did not look like the place they lived in when he left for Stanford. He looked down. Dean's hands cleaned a weapon broken out into its various pieces on a green cloth spread out on the floor. The sound of pages being turned reached his ears. He turned Dean's head to see a young version of himself, when he was maybe fourteen. What the hell was this?

Dad blew in through the front door. He, or rather Dean, stood up and approached Dad. He could feel Dean's anticipation, his utter relief at seeing Dad home in one piece, and his bitter disappointment when Dad just swept by without bothering to glance at either of them.

He heard a disgusted snort. Turning, he saw that it came from him. Well, fourteen year old him. "Don't start, Sammy. He's probably just tired." Dean's warning came from his own mouth. This was really weird. He felt alarm over what young Sam might do next.

"It's Sam." Did he really sound that snooty? Young Sam set his book aside. "Let's see how long it takes before he starts yelling." Young Sam looked down at his watch. Arrogant little snot, wasn't he? How did Dean put up with that?

"Sam!" he snapped, his alarm rocketing through the roof, "I said don't start!" Young Sam ignored him. Not wanting weapons in the room when Dad came in, he started packing them away.

Much faster than he thought, Dad came into the room. Almost instantly, Young Sam and Dad were at it. He tried to intervene, to calm them down. They were a family. He and Young Sam should be glad Dad made it home in one piece, not this. Never this. When he pushed between them, holding Dad and Sam apart, it did not help. If anything, it made things worse. Desperate, he tried yelling too, but they ignored him. Sam screamed about Dad not being home to see him in that math contest, while Dad shouted back that math was a waste of brain cells. He stepped back, finally just letting them go at it. It was like he was invisible. If he couldn't help his own family, he was worthless. A waste of space. He sunk down to the floor, watching, helpless.

Eventually Dad, red-faced, turned away from Young Sam. He stomped into the small kitchen area. Cabinet doors opened and closed while Young Sam stormed off to their room. "Dean? You ordering pizza tonight or what?"

Sam blinked hard as the apartment faded away, replaced by the cluttered room. His first thought of his own was to slam the flaps of the box closed. That was one memory Dean would be better off without. He checked his pockets again, hoping for a lighter. Nada. Sam repositioned the tape over the flaps. Thankfully, it stuck like it was new. He wrapped it around carefully, making certain there were no loose sections or ripples or any way of peeling it off this time. Still feeling Dean's panic, he shoved it into the same corner he found it in. Not satisfied, Sam stacked all the other boxes on top of it. He left the box with his Stanford letter closest to the bottom and the one with the embarrassing pictures of him on top. Dean deserved at least that.

Just after he shoved the last box in place, a section of the wall swung open. It sliced perfectly through various movie posters. Dean walked in.

"Hey!" he said, still feeling out of sorts.

Dean gave him a quizzical look. "Hey, Sam. What's up?"

Sam shook his head, not wanting to admit what he just did. "So, this is what the inside of your head looks like, huh?"

Dean grinned as he looked around. "Well, it's not wheat, but I like it."

"Uh, Dean? Why am I here?" Sam glanced guiltily at his stack of boxes.

Dean heaved a mighty sigh. "I screwed up, Sam. I didn't think both brothers were crazy. I mean, I figured Jerry probably was, but not Ben."

Sam stared at his brother for a long moment. "Dean. They're named after ice cream. I have a feeling sanity isn't a strong suit in their family."

Dean laughed at that and the sound warmed Sam, lessened the panicked feel in his chest. As his laughter died off, Dean approached him. "Well, we still need to figure out how to get them to cross over."

Sam's eyes felt like they might pop. "Cross over? Dean, all we have to do is dig up Ben. Salt and burn, no problem."

Dean glanced away. "Yeah, well, I don't want to."

"What!" Sam resisted grabbing his brother's arm. He had no idea what the rules were for being inside someone's head. "Why not?" he demanded.

Dean shrugged. "I can't. It doesn't feel right."

Sam chewed on his lower lip, trying to figure out what he could say. "Never the easy way, huh?"

Dean chuckled. "Sorry, Sam. I think I drove them off for a little while. Ready to come out and join the fun?"

Sam paused. "You have no idea how to get them to cross over, do you?"

Dean gave him a huge grin. "That's why I have a brilliant little brother."

"Great," Sam mumbled. "Just perfect."


	23. Chapter 23

Okay, just a few chapters left! You crazy oddballs just keep me rolling with this!

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Sam felt slightly disoriented as the graveyard swam into view. "Dean?" he asked weakly.

"Give it a minute, Sam."

Sam nodded to himself. He waited a moment and it settled down, but his stomach continued to churn. Dean's solid and worried face stood right before him. He nodded at his brother, attempting to ignore a fresh churn of his stomach. "I'm okay, Dean."

Dean scoffed. "Uh-huh. Okay, Sam. We need a plan."

"Yeah, I'm going to need a minute," Sam groaned. He needed something to rest on. A pair of hands helped him sit slowly. When the hands went away, that now-familiar anger rose up again. Between it and his stomach, Sam wasn't sure if he had ever felt worse. "Not sure I can help you there, Dean," he admitted, shutting his eyes.

"Sam?" The anger darted away, hiding back in his mind someplace. Without it as a distraction, the image of those two brothers came back to him.

"I wonder if we could convince them," he mumbled.

"Convince them of what?" Dean asked, his voice close to Sam's ear.

Sam opened his eyes, turned his head to the side. Dean sat beside him, one hand still clamped firmly to his shoulder.

"We dig up Ben," Sam explained, nodding towards the grave. "When they show up, we tell them that if they don't cross over, we torch him and they can't be together."

Dean's eyebrows drew together. "Think that'll do it? They're pretty out there, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "If it doesn't, we can really salt and burn him and at least put a stop to this."

Dean's hand massaged his shoulder. Sam discovered that he was leaning into his brother's touch.

"Okay," Dean said finally, "we'll give it a shot. How's the stomach?"

Sam gave his brother an odd look. "How did you know about my stomach?"

"You had that weird expression you always get when your stomach is upset," Dean replied.

Sam chuckled, relieved. Yeah, sometimes the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. "It's fine now. Let's get the shovels."

Dean's hand on his shoulder prevented him from standing. "You sure, Sam? You sure you're all right?"

Sam frowned at his brother. "Yes, Dean, I'm sure."

Dean shrugged. Sam knew the moment his brother released him, though. That anger flowed unchecked back through him. He supposed when there was nothing to drive it away and it was constantly there he handled it better. Now that Dean could drive it off temporarily, his usual defenses relaxed and he was never quite ready for its return. All he wanted to do was torch those brothers and move on to the next hunt. Sam figured he could work out some of this anger by digging. Maybe he could talk Dean into standing guard with the shotgun while he dug. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

* * *

Dean watched his brother warily as Sam dug up Ben's grave. Sam seemed just a little too keen on torching the younger brother and moving on. Maybe it was related to his new anger issues. These were new anger issues, right? The graveyard around them dissolved into another dark place, a basement. Sam held up a shotgun, pulled the trigger.

Dean shuddered as the graveyard sprang back into place. He really hated the repressed memory thing.

"Dean?" Sam asked, worried eyes weighing on him.

"Fine," Dean replied with a wave of his hand, "keep digging."

Sam stared at him for a tense moment before resuming digging. Dean rubbed at his eyes. Where did the spook brothers go? Jerry ought to be freaking out with Sam digging up Ben's body. Assuming it was still here. Dean froze, his eyes widening.

"Uh, Sam? Are you sure the body is still here?" he asked.

"What?" Sam paused in his work. "What did you say?"

Dean walked around Sam's work. "Why are they letting us dig him up? Why haven't they shown up yet?"

Sam leaned on the shovel, one hand wiping his sweaty brow leaving a dark smudge. Sam shrugged. "Maybe we're back to the crazy thing."

"Or maybe he's not here." Dean pointed at the grave.

"He has to be, Dean," Sam replied with a shake of his head. "Otherwise the summoning wouldn't have worked."

Huh. Sam was right. How did he forget about that? "So you looking for some coffee?"

Sam snorted, shaggy hair bouncing as he thrust the shovel back into the dark earth. Dean stood guard, waiting. Those guys would show up again, they had to. Jerry had to be planning something. What would Dean do if someone were after his little brother like this?

Well, for starters he would figure out a way to take the suckers out. So assuming this was the right grave and that the brothers were looking for a way to take them down, it was only a matter of time before they showed up. Great. Dean checked the shotgun rounds again. Ready to go.

"I don't suppose you'd have any ideas either, Mike?" he whispered into the still night air.

"Well," that familiar voice that used to aggravate him sounded really good right now, "I might." Mike's body took form out of the dark, a halo of diffused light around him.

"Oh, come on!" Sam shouted from nearly six feet in the hole. "We don't need him!"

"Sam?" Dean crooked an eyebrow at his brother. "Have you considered some anger management?"

"What do you think the digging is for?" Mike asked.

Dean turned to face Mike. "Because he doesn't like me to bend over," he replied. "It's not?" he asked, shooting a glance at Sam.

"Partially," Sam admitted. "The rest is what Mike said."

Mike beamed at that. "Sam admitted I'm right?"

"And you didn't bitch about him calling you Mike," Dean observed. "I might have to start believing in miracles."

Mike laughed. "Kind of a job requirement, Dean. Hey!"

Sharp pain spiked from the weak point in his back out to every part of his body. No air moved in his body, he couldn't even gasp. He tried to roll his eyes toward Mike, but his personal pain-in-the-ass wasn't there. Dean fell to his knees, desperately trying to pull air into his lungs but the pain refused to let his muscles move. What the hell was going on here?

"Now you know," a voice said. Who was it? "This is what your brother deals with everyday. It should be you."

He tried to turn his head, but the pain wouldn't allow it. Sam did not feel this all the time, he couldn't. Dean would know. He should know.

"Not that kind of pain," another voice said. "It's metaphorical. You're not very literate are you?"

"Doesn't feel metaphorical," he grunted through clenched teeth.

Jerry appeared in front of him. "He's not as dumb as you think he is."

Ben appeared beside his older brother. "Sure he is. He didn't even know there was anything wrong with his brother."

Jerry bent over to study Dean. He looked too solid to be a ghost. "I'll bet he does, he's just been trying to figure it out. Have you?"

"Gonna burn his ass," he grunted. "Then you're both toast." That would sound so much better if he could move. And where did Mike go? Or Sam for that matter? He could still move his eyes and this looked like the graveyard, so did they go someplace or did he? Ben's grave was still intact with piles of flowers on it. Ah-ha!

Dean locked eyes with Jerry. "You got a problem, dude. The inside of your head looks like a graveyard." He turned his head despite the searing pain. "Isn't that Ben's grave?"

"What?" Ben raced over to the headstone. "Hey, that is my name! Jerry, what's going on? Am I…" He waved a hand at the headstone.

Dean gritted his teeth. It kind of helped to know he was just in Jerry's head and that none of this was real. Then again, maybe it was more real in here. Okay, he really needed to get back out. How could he be in a ghost's head anyway? Pain surged through his body as he stood, blinding him momentarily.

"You both are." He forced himself to breathe. Okay, why would that be necessary? He was just in the dead guy's head. Right. Breathe, Dean, breathe.

"Jerry?" Now the kid brother sounded scared. "You died?"

"Wrecked his car," Dean informed him, desperately trying to remain on his feet.

Ben looked mad now. "You idiot! How many times did I tell you to keep your eyes on the road?"

Jerry looked at his brother, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. "Not enough." He sniffled. Dean felt disgusted. Older brothers should never sniffle. "But that was my fault, for not protecting you."

"Jerry!" Ben faced his brother, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean flinched. "Watch your language!"

Jerry shoved him. "Don't you talk to my brother like that."

Dean glared back, hoping he still had the glowing eyes thing going for him. "As long as you two stick around, I'm going to. If you want it to stop, you're going to have to cross o…"

A bright flash blinded him, searing through his vision. Dean clenched his jaw against the pain, unable to even wonder what might be happening now.

"…ver."

"Dean!" Sam's voice penetrated the pain-filled haze. He opened his eyes to the same graveyard, only this one had Sam hovering over him and Mike. Wait a second. Was his head in Mike's freaking lap? He shifted his head, relieved when he felt it brush nice solid ground. At least that was one indignity he did not have to endure. "Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled. He held his arms out. "So pull me up."

He noticed that while Mike grabbed his hand to haul him up, Sam grabbed his sleeve. That bothered Dean on more than one level. Sam was just inside his head and couldn't take him by the hand? Or did Sam find something in there, something Dean would prefer his little brother not know? What deep dark secret did Sam see that drove his little brother so far from him? Crap, he tried to protect his brother and wound up pushing him farther away. Just one more thing he screwed up.

"Sam?" he asked. At the expression on Sam's face, Dean figured he must look pretty worried.

"You had us worried, passing out like that," Sam snapped. "Don't do it again."

That spot in his spine still hurt. Dean rubbed his lower back, watching Sam jump back into the grave. "You might not need to do that."

Sam gave him a dirty look. "Better safe than dead."

"He has a point," Mike said.

Dean took a hard, long look at Mike. "So how did it go with Bobby?"

Mike looked down at an imaginary watch. "Oh, look at that. I'm late for my harp lessons. Gotta go!" He vanished.

"Bastard," Dean muttered. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to!" He shouted into the space Mike just disappeared from.

"Which is?" Sam asked, pausing in his work.

Dean shrugged. "Wish I knew."

Sam leaned on the shovel, his mouth dangling open. "But you said…"

"Whatever," Dean waved a hand at him. "If you're going to keep digging, keep digging." He heard a few grunts from his brother as the digging resumed, but at least Sam was exercising a little anger management. On the other hand, if Sam needed anger management, then this anger thing might be something to worry about. Then again, Dean worried about everything Sam, so he would worry about it anyway. The Anger Issue just went up near the top of the list.


	24. Chapter 24

Okay, here it is! The chapter you've been waiting for!! Now to find out what the heck is wrong with Sam:

**Chapter Twenty-four**

Sam tried to pour all of his energy and anger into his digging. The exercise helped, but not enough. He still did not feel normal. So he allowed his mind to wander while he dug. Images of Dean being thrown into walls, too many to count, filled his mind. That was not helping. He tried to think of all the people they had saved, but instead his mind went to all the people who had hunted them over the years. The shovel bit hard into the rich soil.

There was something perverse about death creating the perfect kind of place to plant crops. Or was it simply full circle? Either way, it ticked Sam off. It was just not right. There was far too much death in their lives. Why couldn't there be more life? And why couldn't more people just cross over nicely? What the hell was wrong with the human race?!

His shovel hit with a hollow clunk. "Finally," he breathed. Sam lifted the shovel to break the top of the coffin. When he tried to thrust it down, he couldn't. Sam looked back to find his brother holding the handle of the shovel. He gritted his teeth. Oh, now what!

"I warned you," Dean said, but his brother was not looking at him. Dean's eyes focused beyond him. "We'll torch you both unless you move on. Hasn't your brother suffered enough?"

Sam, not releasing his shovel, twisted to look out at the ghost brothers. They were merged again, fading in and out of each other. Why did Dean honestly think he could convince a couple of psycho ghosts to cross over? They probably didn't even understand what was happening.

"Ben is safe!" Jerry's voice roared.

"Not him!" Dean shouted. "I was talking to Ben!"

The younger boy stepped out of the merged form. He looked curiously at Dean. "What do you mean, hasn't he suffered enough? Jerry suffered?"

"Of course he's suffered!" Dean snapped, maintaining that death grip on Sam's shovel. He tried to be subtle about pulling it out of his brother's hands, but Dean was not subtle. With one yank, his brother removed the shovel from his grasp. Damn it!

"He watched you die!" Dean waved the shovel, leaping over the open grave. "He failed to protect you and had to watch you die." His brother stared down Ben. "He had to live the rest of his life without you, without being able to see you grow up, without being able to talk to you."

"We talked!" Ben shouted.

"You were a ghost!" Dean screamed. "And you didn't even know it! Can't you see how that would tear him apart!" The shovel hurtled through the air, passing harmlessly through the two brothers.

"Jerry?" Ben looked up at his big brother. "Should we go now?"

"Go where?" Jerry asked, appearing dazed.

"I think we can find it." Ben moved away. "I can see a bright light, right over there." He pointed. "You see it?"

Jerry looked up, squinting. "Wait a minute, Ben." Jerry approached Dean. Sam's anger surged to new heights. He jumped out of the grave to arrive at his brother's side. If these ghosts thought they were going to hurt his brother…

"The guy you were talking to earlier, can we trust him?" Jerry asked.

Confused, Sam waited for Dean's cue, but the anger still surged through him.

"Mike? Yeah, I think Mike can show you the way." Dean's smile was bright and full of hope. That ticked Sam off, too. Geez, what the hell was wrong with him??

"Come on, Ben. Let's go." Jerry stepped into Ben's space again. They looked up together, fading out as a bright light replaced them.

Sam shielded his eyes from the light, it was too bright, too intense. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Sam fell to his knees, pain wracking his body. Oh, crap.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was the last thing he heard before it all went black.

* * *

"Sam!" Dean caught his brother in mid-fall. "Crap!" He poked and prodded, but he couldn't find where the ghost brothers might have hurt his brother on their way out, not that they really had a reason to. Dean gritted his teeth, preparing to light Sam up again, heal him.

"Let me." Mike's voice came from behind him.

"He's my brother," Dean replied calmly.

"Dean." A hand pulled back on his shoulder. "Let me do it."

Dean glanced back at Mike's worried face. Since when did archangels look worried? "Why?" he demanded.

Mike sighed, sinking down next to them. "I have a pretty good idea what's wrong with him. Sam has been fighting this for a long time, probably since the demon visited him as a baby." He hesitated, running a hand through his wild hair. "I'm not sure what will happen to you if you do it."

"Meaning what?" Dean demanded. "It might cancel out this freaky angel stuff? Bring it on."

He leaned forward, hands splayed open and headed for Sam's chest. The moment he touched his brother, Dean felt that anger and darkness well up. Normally it ran from him, but now it came right up to say howdy. Figured. He pushed out with his mind and emotions, attempting to flood Sam with that healing light and drive out this – whatever this was.

Like two great tidal waves, the healing light and the darkness clashed. Dean found that he had to fight to maintain his footing against Sam's anger. Ironic that he spent most of his life doing this on the outside, and now here he was on the inside still trying to handle Sam's anger. It was bigger now than he remembered from before. Or maybe it had been waiting, biding its time? Yeah, that was a comforting thought.

Dean pushed further in, battling against various angry currents. Images of fights with Dad, angry words, Sam feeling fed up with Dad or Dean, it all battered against him. He waded through, trying to find the source of this tide of negative emotions. It swirled around his legs, trying to draw him down and in. Dean slogged on, ignoring it all the best he could. He did have a lifetime of experience in that, and for the first time Dean was grateful for it.

As he plodded on, heading for the darkest area he could see, the emotions strengthened. Fear and anger combined, heightening his own general feeling of unease. If he had to be honest with himself, and lately Dean did not have a choice in this matter, Sam's negative emotions were downright creepy. They could shoot a freaking horror movie in here.

The closer he came to the center of it all, the more solid Sam's emotions became. A Wendigo glared out of a shadow to the left. A witch hovered near Dean's right shoulder. A blur flashed by in front of him. He hesitated only a moment before pushing through. The blur happened again.

"Damn it, Dean! Not again!" Sam's voice echoed. Without pausing, Dean looked toward the blur. It was him being thrown into a wall. Okay, he did not expect that to be one of the things that set Sam off. Huh. Dean might need to think about that later, when he had more time.

"Not again!"

"Not again!"

The words echoed, reverberated through the shadows and darkness encroaching. He pressed on as more images of himself flying into walls blew past. Other images, nasty gym teachers, feds, small town sheriffs and even a few ungrateful people they saved, crowded in front of him. Through it all he could hear Dad's voice bellowing orders over Sam's repeated questions, over all the other noise. This was one hell of a mess, how was he supposed to fix this? Just light?

He held his hands up, palms facing that pitch black center. It was so dark it was blacker than just the color black, it was the absence of all light. There was nothing of light inside there, only Sam's darkest fears and emotions. He figured it was mostly fear, though, and that was something Dean understood.

"I gotcha, Sam," he said, speaking for the first time in here. "I'll take care of it." Light pulsed from his hands. As the light reached that really dark spot, it seemed to fold into the darkness and disappear.

"Oh no, you don't. You don't get Sam." Dean gritted his teeth, pushing in deeper. "If I'd known you were in here…" He shook his head in disbelief. This level of darkness actually existed inside Sam? His little brother? It was a good thing that yellow-eyed SOB was already dead, or Dean would already be planning a little hunt. As it was, he would really like something to loose his anger on.

Huh. What did you know? That nice dark spot made a good target for his anger. Dean let it pour out, all of his own anger with the fact Sam couldn't have a normal childhood, that even though he did everything he possibly could he still didn't protect his brother from this. It all turned into light discharging from his hands. When he glanced down, Dean saw the light also came from his arms, legs and body. He was a freaking star! Literally.

"Come on, Sammy," he murmured, heading straight into that patch of darkness. "Help me out here." Dean walked into the darkness until the only light he saw came from him. He turned around. All the images were gone, invisible in the darkness. The only reason Dean could see his hand was because it glowed.

"You're more than this, Sam!" he shouted into the darkness. "Come on! Give me something to work with here!" Dean held both hands out, stumbling in the darkness. "Sam!" He would not panic, he would not panic. "Sammy!" Okay, maybe just a little.

"Dean?" Sam's voice drifted through the impenetrable darkness. "Dean?"

"Sam!" He wanted to head toward the sound, but it came from everywhere. "Where are you? I can't see a stinking thing in here!"

"I, uh, don't know." Again the voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "I can't see you either. Keep talking."

"Keep talking." Dean snorted. "Sam, I swear, if you get me lost in here I'm kicking your ass from here all the way to…"

A gangly teenaged Sam appeared from the darkness. "Hey, Dean."

"Took you long enough," he muttered, stepping forward. "What kept you?" Dean demanded. He resisted reaching out to touch his brother, knowing this was at best a mental self-image and at worst, well, he didn't want to think about that.

Sam shrugged, bony shoulders rising shyly. It was the 'new kid' act Sam perfected over a hundred schools and towns. Sam usually had a new friend or two within hours. Dean rolled his eyes.

"So how long has this been here?" he asked, waving at the darkness.

"This what?" Gangly Sam asked, looking around with wide eyes. "My room?"

"Your room?" Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Ever think of putting in a light or two?"

Gangly Sam chuckled, that old smile rising. "There's never any light in this deep, Dean. Honestly, I'm shocked you made it in this far."

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"Because," Gangly Sam broadened, his features widening into his brother of today, "this is where my abilities come from, Dean. It's a little different from yours."

"No kidding." Dean took a deep breath, let it out heavy and slow. "Well," he rubbed his hands together, "you ready?"

Sam's eyes widened. "For what, Dean?"

"Some redecorating, Sammy. I think your room needs a little light." He met Sam's eyes. "You gonna help out or what?"

"I-I can't." Sam backed away, eyes too wide. "I don't do light."

"Come on, Sam. Remember how awesome you said it was?" Dean used his most persuasive voice.

A smile flickered over Sam's face. "It was pretty awesome."

"Just pretty awesome?" Dean demanded, smiling.

Sam stepped closer, the smile growing in strength. "Really awesome."

Dean held up one hand, light flickering from his cupped palm. "Catch." He tossed his light ball to Sam.

Sam caught it in one hand. Instantly his smile widened, spreading across his whole face. "Wow," Sam breathed.

"Want to see something even cooler?" Dean asked, grinning.

"What can be better than this?" Sam asked, awe in his voice and the light reflected in his eyes.

"Trust me?" Dean asked. He waited for Sam to nod, still smiling. "I don't want it to hurt, Sam, so don't fight it." The smile dropped a little there, but Sam nodded again anyway. He saw the fear there, the darkness reflected in Sam's eyes. Dean was determined to remove that fear, forever. His hand settled on Sam's shoulders.

"Ready?" he whispered. "Just let it happen, Sam. It'll be all right. I'm here."

Sam trembled under his hands. Before more fear could build, Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and forced the light into his brother. Around them cool flames, flickering tendrils of pure light, leapt up through the darkness. Dean watched the light eat away the darkness surrounding them. Sam relaxed under his hands.

Laughter, his, Dad's, Sam's, filled the space around them. He forced every bit that he could, everything he had, out of him into his brother. The space around them glowed brilliantly just before it all went dark. Again.


	25. Chapter 25

Probably just one or two more chapters after this one. Wow, this has been fun!! Thank you, fellow oddballs!!

**Chapter Twenty-five**

"Dean?" Sam mumbled. His mouth felt too dry, like he had been using it to store cotton balls. And his head hurt. A lot.

"Sam?"

That was not Dean's voice. Sam chose not to answer, deciding he just didn't feel up to it at the moment.

"Dean?"

Okay, the right to use that kind of panic in saying his brother's name belonged to only one person, him. Sam forced his eyes to open. It was still dark, but not as dark as he remembered. He expected to hurt now, for his whole body to be terribly sore. Instead he felt pretty good, except for the headache. But even that was starting to fade. Sam blinked a few times before his eyes focused. Mike bent over Dean, face tight and drawn, one finger stuck awkwardly out.

"Better use a stick," Sam advised. "Dean doesn't like being poked."

"Sam." Mike turned to him, visibly relieved. "Feeling better?" With one incredibly strong hand, Mike helped Sam sit.

The world swam around his head, spinning crazily. Sam held one hand to his head, trying to force the world to settle, behave. "Better?" Sam repeated as the spinning slowed. "Yeah," Sam admitted as the world around him settled. "Better."

"Good enough to poke Dean?" Mike asked, motioning to his unmoving brother.

"I'm not crazy," Sam replied. He scooted over to sit next to his big brother. With a tentative hand, Sam gently touched Dean's shoulder. "Dean? Come on, man. Wake up." His brother did not move.

"Try again," Mike urged, motioning at Dean's still form.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother by both shoulders. Did Dean feel lighter? He'd better not. Sam tried to probe his brother's feelings and thoughts, but he touched nothing. Trying harder did nothing. Nothing. Sam pressed his ear against Dean's chest and heard air passing. If he was patient he could feel Dean's chest moving. Well, he had that. If Dean were dreaming he should be able to tap into that. Then Sam realized he was not getting nothing, he was getting less than nothing.

"It's gone," he breathed, pulling Dean into his lap. He felt safe like this, content. "Gone." It was weird not to be able to sense emotions anymore, like an appendage had been amputated.

"What's gone?" Mike asked, eyes darting between them glowing softly.

Sam looked around the graveyard. For most people this place was a site of sorrow, for others simply a last resting place for a loved one. For Sam it was one of the regular places he worked but right now, it was beautiful. It was one of the most beautiful places he ever laid eyes on. "Wow. Now that's a tree. Mike, do you see the size of that oak over there?" Sam pointed out the tree near Ben's grave. It was simply amazing. Why didn't he notice that before? He saw the tree before, sure, but not its beauty.

"Uh, Dean? I think maybe you took a little too much there," Mike said, touching Dean for the first time.

A grunt answered Mike's gentle prod, followed by a groan. "Remind me not to do that again," he muttered.

Sam laughed lightly, clinging to Dean's shoulders as his brother's head rested in his lap. "Dean? Have you ever seen such a great tree?" he asked, anxious to share his discovery with his brother. When his brother's eyes opened and narrowed suspiciously on him, Sam wondered if he said the wrong thing. "Sorry. You okay?"

"Not a girl," Dean muttered, struggling in Sam's hands.

Sam chuckled as he pushed his brother up into a sitting position. Typical Dean. He liked that about his brother. Actually, right now, he liked pretty much everything. "Dean? Am I stoned?"

Dean's head dropped forward. "God help us if you are."

"Dean?" Mike spoke carefully, as if Dean might break if his words were too loud or too hard. Didn't Mike know how tough Dean was? "How do you feel?"

"Like crap," Dean snapped. His head lifted. "Normal, right? No freaky glowing eyes?"

Mike shook his head. "No, no freaky glowing eyes. Want some help with that, or just sleep it off?"

Dean held up a hand, warding Mike away. "Just sleep. Is he gonna be okay?" Dean jabbed a thumb in Sam's direction.

"I feel great, Dean! Why wouldn't I be okay?" Sam looked up at the glistening stars, the wispy clouds. "Wow. Now that's a pretty night sky. Isn't it?"

Dean groaned again.

"I think he'll be just fine. It'll just take a little while for the euphoria to wear off," Mike explained, hauling Dean up.

Sam looked around. Why was he sitting if everybody else was standing? He popped up to his feet, energy surging through him. Wow, he really felt great.

"Euphoria?" Dean groaned, casting a sideways look at Sam. "I think I prefer him broody."

Sam chuckled. "Don't you just love Dean's sense of humor?"

Dean glared at Mike, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. I didn't do it. Hopefully it'll wear off in a couple of days."

"Days?" Dean's voice took on that dangerous tone. Uh-oh. Mike was gonna get it now! "Days?"

Mike looked down at his wrist.

"I swear, if you mention harp lessons I'm gonna…"

"What?" Mike glanced back up, grinning. "Kick my ass? Yeah, right. I don't think you have that option anymore, Dean. Well, I'll see you boys around!" Mike waved as he faded out of sight.

"What did he mean, Dean?" Sam asked. Honestly, Mike could be so cryptic. It's a good thing Sam liked him so much, or he would really find that irritating.

"Nevermind, Sammy," Dean snapped. "Let's get back so I can crash."

"Sure!" Sam raced to pick up their stuff. Whoops. They left that grave open. "Wait a second, Dean, we still need to…" Sam blinked. He blinked again. Hard. Ben's grave was filled in. When did that happen?

"What, Sam? Come on! I'm tired!"

"Coming!" Sam rushed to pick up all their stuff and erase as much sign of their nightly activities as he could before joining his brother. Dean tried to take some of their stuff from him, but Sam refused. "Nope, not going to happen. Not with your back." He hummed a happy tune as he walked to the car.

"Dude, what is that?" Dean asked as he opened the trunk for Sam. "That song?"

"Whistle while you work," Sam replied. At Dean's puzzled expression, he explained, "From Snow White? The dwarfs sang it."

"Dwarfs sang whistle while you work." Dean stared hard at him. "And you wonder why I never watched that crap." His brother slammed the trunk, hard.

Sam grinned, he couldn't help it. Everything just felt so good, so right. After he sat in the passenger seat of the car he hugged himself, wondering why he didn't just explode with happiness. Dean did look really tired, though. "Dean? I feel fine, want me to drive?"

"No, thanks." Dean started the motor. "I'd rather wind up at the house, not Disneyland."

Sam beamed. "Hey, Dean? Do you think we could…"

"No."

Sam shrugged, looking out the window. "Wow," he marveled as they passed another huge old oak, "that's a great tree, too. Just look at the size of that trunk."

"Uh-huh."

* * *

As Dean crawled onto the nasty mattress, which Sam kept proclaiming had the softest lumps ever, he hoped Mike was right and Sam would snap out of this. Soon. A few days of this could result in Sam being bound and gagged until he started acting a little more normal. God, his head hurt. As he shut his eyes, Dean sent up a silent prayer.

He froze on the mattress. What did he just do? Pray? Cautiously Dean opened one eye. Sam grinned in the dark, watching him. That was beyond creepy.

"Go play with your laptop," Dean ordered.

"Hey, great idea! Thanks, Dean!"

"Jobs," Dean snapped. "Not porn." He shut his eyes again. Why not porn, he wondered. Sam liked it. Because, he told himself, he didn't want to wake up to 'those' sounds. Yeah, that was it. In Sam's current state he'd probably REALLY enjoy it. Dean was not up for dealing with that. Not at all.

Light penetrated his eyelids way too soon. Dean blinked. Was it morning already? Crap. He pushed himself into a sitting position, looking for his brother. Sam was not in the main room. His headache was better, but it was still a dull throb right behind his eyes.

"Sam?" he called. No answer. Crap, crap, crap. He tried to stand, but his legs were too weak to hold him up. Not good. How the heck did he make it here last night? "Sam!" Still no answer.

He concentrated on Sam, wondering where his brother was. A thin ray of light shot out of his stomach, but it was too weak to follow. What was he doing? He had a freaking cell phone! As Dean worked his cell out of his pocket, the door opened. Sam walked in, face beaming. Shit. It hadn't worn off yet.

"You're up! It's a beautiful day, Dean. You've been missing it!" Sam gushed as he sauntered over. A brown bag swung from one of Sam's hands.

"What do you have there?" Dean asked, motioning to the bag and desperately trying to ignore Sam's attitude.

"Breakfast for you and lunch for me," Sam said as he sunk down to sit on the floor across from Dean. He smiled again, a wide, face-stretching smile, as he reached into the bag. A white bag with grease stains on the side which smelled suspiciously of sugar was handed over to Dean.

"Donuts," he said, breathing in the wonderful aroma. "Are these still hot?" he asked, amazed.

"Yep. I had them make a new batch," Sam replied. "I got a burger."

"At the donut place?" Dean asked, his hand already in the white bag.

Sam shook his head. "Nope. I figured you deserved something extra special today." He grinned again.

Dean shook his head. He really, really hoped this euphoria thing wore off soon. "And why is that, Sammy? Did you find a new hunt?"

Sam shook his head. "I thought we could hang out here for a while."

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously as he stuffed a hot glazed into his mouth. "Why?" he asked around the food in his mouth.

Sam beamed again as he shrugged. "Just because."

"Because?" Dean prompted.

Sam took a big bite of burger to avoid answering, like it wasn't obvious. Dean decided to polish off his donuts before trying again. "What's going on, Sam?" he asked as he brushed bits of glazed sugar off his shirt.

Sam sighed as he peeled back the paper around his burger. "Well, I was thinking." Not always a good sign, Dean noted. "We haven't had a lot of time to just hang out together lately." One hand waved through the air. "Too much going on, you know?"

Dean nodded slowly. "What else is new?"

"Right!" Sam grinned. "So I figured, why not now? This hunt is over, Mike doesn't have anything new for us, and we have a free place to stay. Let's make the most of it."

Dean could not put his finger on why, but it did not sound as simple as all that. "And you want to see how much last night took out of me, right?"

"Well…" Sam glanced away, "yeah. But I really just want to hang out."

Dean groaned, leaning his head as far over as he could to pop his neck. "I could use another day," he admitted. "So what did you have in mind?"

Two hours later Dean reminded himself, again, to never ever ever ask Sam what his brother had in mind. His legs ached, hurt like he just ran a freaking marathon, from standing in line for a couple of minutes. They were waiting in line to actually buy tickets for, of all freaking things, a play. Yes, Sam's idea of a good time was to go see a play. Not rent a good movie or shoot cans off a wall, to go see a frigging play.

"This place better have comfortable seats," Dean groused as the line inched forward. "Why are we paying to see this again?"

Sam just smiled as he shook his head. "You don't sneak in to see live plays, Dean. Doesn't work. Besides, these people really worked hard to put this on, the least you can do is show some appreciation."

"What's it called again?" Dean asked, craning his sore neck to read the billboard. "The Importance of Ernie? Why don't they just ask Bert?"

"It's the Importance of Being Earnest, Dean," Sam corrected, but his smile was not quite as broad as it was a minute ago. "It's a really good play by Oscar Wilde. Just give it a chance."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd rather sit in a dark bar, throw some darts and drink beer."

"I'm sure you would," Sam agreed, the smile gone. "But you agreed to do what I wanted, for a change."

"For a change?" Dean asked, incredulous. "What's that supposed to mean? We do what you want all the time."

"Oh, right." Sam snorted. "Like I really want to go sit in a bar and watch you hit on women all night."

"Face it, Sam," Dean turned to look up at him, "you could use the pointers." A faint smile tugged at the corners of Dean's mouth.

A loud chuckled escaped from Sam. "You know what?" He glanced around. "I could use another dart lecture."

"I'll buy the beer," Dean promised, tossing his keys in his hand. "Let's go."


	26. Chapter 26

Probably just one more chapter after this one, but it should answer a frequently asked question about Dean. Man, I love this oddball fic! Go oddballs!!**  
**

**Chapter Twenty-six**

"I'll buy the beer," Dean promised, tossing his keys in his hand. "Let's go."

Sam's hand shot out into the air, snatching Dean's keys. "Fine, but I'm driving."

"Hey!" Dean protested, but his aching legs could not keep up with Sam's long strides. He only caught up because Sam did not take off in the car. Glowering at his brother, Dean slid into the passenger seat. "What's the big idea?"

"You're exhausted," Sam replied. "I can't believe I had you standing in that line. I'm taking you back to the house, and then I'm going out to pick up a few things." His brother's buoyant attitude was fading out at times now. It gave Dean some hope.

Though he would never admit it, least of all to Sam, his legs felt so much better sitting down. "What kind of things?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Well," Sam shot him a full-dimpled grin, "I can promise you beer."

Dean nodded, resting into the seat. "Okay, but I'm going with you." Sam shot him a dirty look as they pulled out onto the street. "Dude, I'll wait in the car."

It was such a relief to see his brother not acting stoned-happy all the time, Dean would have done almost anything Sam wanted. "Good," Sam snapped, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with that sneaky expression that was a hold-over from childhood. His brother obviously had more in mind that that.

As he waited in the parking lot outside a grocery store, Dean leaned back and tried to nap. He felt a gentle tug from his abdomen. A thin beam of bright light shot out of him, piercing the doors of the store.

"Crap," he muttered, pushing his door open. Dean followed the light, unable to tell why it wanted him there. A woman with three young children, the smallest in an infant carrier mounted on her shopping cart, walked through the doors. One of the children by her side bolted the instant the outer doors opened, racing from his family. Dean reached out with one arm to scoop up the child as a car squealed to a stop behind him.

Startled, Dean spun around with the squirming boy tucked securely under his arm. The car, with a wide-eyed woman hyperventilating behind the wheel, was in the exact space the boy would have been if Dean had not caught him. "Well that's just great," he swore to himself, understanding why he was here. "Perfect."

He turned around to face the mother, whose mouth hung open and eyes stared widely. Keeping a firm hand on the boy, Dean set him on his feet. "You," he said in his most Dad-like voice, "do not run off like that again!"

He wanted to shake the kid, really put his point across, but at the expression on the boy's face Dean found that he couldn't. The young boy sucked in his breath, his eyes wide with fear. He backed away into his mother's waiting arms, nodding. The mother did not look in any great shape herself, but then again her kid had almost been run over.

"Some kids need a leash," Dean muttered, watching. He stepped away, intending to go back to the car, when Sam appeared in the doorway.

"I thought you agreed to wait in the car?" Sam asked. Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Sam interrupted whatever he might have said with, "Never mind. You can help me carry some of this stuff."

Sam's arms were loaded with white plastic bags. Dean took a few, as many as Sam would allow.

"That's enough," Sam ordered when Dean reached for the beer. With a sigh, he followed Sam back to the car.

Sam grinned as he started the engine. "I have a couple of surprises for you."

"I don't like surprises," Dean complained.

"Since when?" Sam demanded, pointing the car back to the house they had been squatting in for the past few days.

"Since the last one gave me freaky eyes," Dean replied, amazed at his own truthfulness. Uh-oh.

"Yeah, well, you'll like this one," Sam promised. "But it does have something to do with your eyes."

Dean stiffened. "How's that?"

Sam's dimples appeared again. "I got some movies for us to watch."

"It's Ernie, isn't it? Did you get some of the old ones, where he and Bert were roommates and no one thought it was weird?" Dean asked.

Sam laughed, a sound that had been rare. "Yes, I got the Importance of Being Ernest. I also got Godzilla versus Mothra and a couple others I thought you might like."

"Seriously?" Dean reached over the seat to paw at the plastic bags. "What else did you get?"

"Stop it," Sam laughed, swatting at his efforts. "You'll see when we get there. When you're feeling better we'll hit a bar, okay?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Was I complaining, Sam?"

The grin dipped down briefly as Sam shot him a suspicious look. "No."

"Then quit worrying about going out to a bar," Dean said dismissively. "How about jerky? Did you get any jerky?" He tried to reach into the backseat again.

"God, Dean, you're worse than a little kid!" Sam barked, shoving his arm away.

"M&Ms?" he asked hopefully, grinning.

"Look, we're almost there," Sam pointed out the windshield. "Just hang on."

Dean watched his little brother. The instant Sam's attention was diverted as they pulled into the alley, Dean dove into the backseat.

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam shouted.

He felt his brother whacking on his legs as he hung over the seat, digging through the bags. Yes! Candy! And…where was it? Where? Jerky – score! Now, where were those movies?

The backdoor opened and Sam's long arms snagged bags right out from under him. "Come on, Sam! At least let me see what you got!"

"Who's the big brother again?" Sam asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Well, at least Sam was in a better mood these days.

With a huff, Dean grabbed the bags Sam did not already have to take into the house. He noticed that Sam always left him the lightest stuff to carry. That used to bug him, but Dean supposed he was getting used to it. Besides, it showed Sam cared, right?

He froze in the middle of the room, bags dangling from his hands. What the hell was that? It showed Sam cared? Since when did that make a difference? Since when did he worry about it?

"Dean?" He glanced over at Sam's worried face. "Hey man, are you okay? Maybe you should sit down, you look kind of pale."

Dean opened his mouth to say he was fine, but what came out was, "I think I'm losing it."

"Uh, okay." Sam took the remaining bags from him to stack on the rickety table. Sam returned to guide him over to a chair. "How exactly are you losing it?"

Dean shook his head, his mind in a whirl. "I'm not sure."

"Dean?" Sam kneeled by him. "Remember when you hid me? In your head?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Maybe he could avoid this conversation. "So how are we supposed to watch these movies? There's not a television."

"On my laptop," Sam replied, waving one hand dismissively. "I want to talk about what I saw in there." He pointed to Dean's head.

"I don't. Where's my candy?" He hoped his brother could take a hint, but really, he knew better.

A simple, caring smile creased Sam's face. "I liked your movie posters."

Dean dropped his head in defeat. "What else did you see?"

"You had a lot of boxes in there with all kinds of stuff." Dean squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how hard he had to squeeze to shut Sam out. "A lot of boxes about me."

"Come on, Dean," a hand grasped his upper arm and Dean felt waves of concern flowing from the touch. His eyes snapped open.

"Is it back?" he demanded, grabbing Sam's other arm. "Is it?"

The concern turned to confusion. "Is what back?" Sam's large eyes blinked slowly at him.

"The freaky stuff where you could, you know, feel all my emotions and read my thoughts." Dean stared deep into Sam's eyes, trying to see if Sam could be lying.

A wide smile spread across Sam's face. "No, Dean. No freaky stuff." Then the concern came back in full force as Sam's forehead wrinkled. "Why? What made you think that?"

Dean pushed Sam away while scrubbing a hand down his face. "I just thought that…Forget it." Maybe he imagined it. Yeah, that's it, he imagined it. He also imagined that string of light that make him go save a little kid from becoming a statistic. Definitely losing it here.

"Look, I just wanted to say," Sam hesitated, as if he weren't sure how Dean would take his next statement, "I'm glad I'm not in just one box, and that none of my boxes are under lock and key like Cassie's." The grin returned, but there was a touch of sadness in it this time. "Not even the bad ones."

Oh crap, crap, crap! "You looked at stuff in my head?" Dean demanded.

Sam shrugged. "You shouldn't have put me there if you didn't want me to look. You know how I am." There was a sparkle in his eye Dean did not recall ever having seen before. "So, when you think of me now, what's the first thing that pops into your mind?"

"Other than the fact you're a pain in the ass?" he grumbled. Sam smiled again and nodded. Dean let his mind wander as he thought about Sam. Several great images of Sam in embarrassing situations sprang to mind. He chuckled when he thought of sticking that spoon in Sam's mouth as his brother slept in the car, and the way Sam's face contorted when his little brother realized the real reason his underwear itched. "Dude, you're so funny when I get the best of you."

"Good." Sam still smiled at him. "I was hoping you'd say something like that."

"Were you?" Dean stared at Sam as if he had never seen him before. "And why is that?"

"Well," Sam gave a little shrug, "I might have rearranged a few things."

"And you didn't bury the good stuff? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Dean demanded.

Sam laughed, squeezing his arm again. "Ready for a beer?"

Dean watched suspiciously as Sam handed over a beer. Sam setup his laptop on the table, arranging it to be watched from the mattress on the floor. If Sam really had that dark stuff inside since he was a baby, was this the real Sam now? Dean wondered if he could get used to it. The broodiness he could handle, this unicorns and rainbows version bordered on creepy.

"Come on," Sam motioned to him. "Need any help getting down there?"

Dean shot his brother a hard look. "No," he snapped. Instantly he felt guilty at the flash of disappointment on Sam's face. "But I might getting back up," he found himself admitting.

Sam grinned again, plopping down on the mattress. "If I'd been thinking, I would've found a place to buy some cheap, clean sheets."

Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it. We've made do with less," he said as he lowered himself to the mattress.

Sam beamed at him, making him feel both better and guilty. Oh, man, when would this end?

* * *

Sam watched his big brother anxiously during The Importance of Being Ernest. He really wanted Dean to enjoy it. Dean seemed to laugh at the right moments, relaxing just enough. It wasn't until he put the Godzilla movie on that Dean really appeared to feel at home, though. Sam chose to file that away for future reference. Dean liked his kind of movies best, but was willing to suffer through Sam's just for the sake of being brothers. Wow, what a great big brother he had.

Eventually Dean fell asleep watching the monster movie Sam thought he'd enjoy. Well, they could finish watching it tomorrow. Sam planned to be here for a couple more days, at least. He really liked just hanging out with his big brother. If they did hit a bar within the next couple of days, he could watch Dean turn on the charm. Maybe he needed to take notes? Nah. He could learn by observation. After all, he had been watching Dean all his life.

Sam stopped the movie before he headed outside. He wanted to take a nice walk before going to sleep. The air was gentle and the stars blinked in the night sky. Sam grinned at the sky as he walked, enjoying just being.

"Hey, Sam," a familiar voice said.

Sam spun around to find Mike leaning against a really nice tree. He grinned at their friend. "Hey, Mike! What's going on? You don't have a new job for us already?" Sam tried to hide his disappointment. He really wanted a few days just to hang out with Dean.

"Nah. Somebody wants to talk to you." Mike motioned behind Sam.

Sam looked back over his shoulder. Gabriel walked up to him. "I just have to check," she said, reaching for him.

"Check what?" Sam asked. What would bring Mike and Gabriel out here now?

"That's a good question."

Sam spun around again. Wasn't Dean just asleep? Yep, Dean's hair was all mussed like his brother just rolled out of bed.

"What are you doing here?" Gabriel demanded, eyes blazing. Wow. That was pretty cool. Tiny fires danced in her eyes.

"Look," Dean spread his hands in a placating gesture, "I'm just trying to get a little sleep. Can't we do this later? Like – oh – next year?"

She scowled at Dean. "No. We have to be sure."

"Sure of what?" Sam asked.

"Why?" Dean demanded, walking to stand beside Sam. "Didn't think I could do it myself?"

"I told you," Gabriel stepped right into Dean's personal space. It was a good thing she was a girl, Sam thought. "We have to be sure."

Actually, having people talk about him like he wasn't here was a tad annoying. Really annoying. "Dean," Sam turned to look at his brother, "what's going on?"

Dean gave him one of those aggravating shrugs, like he didn't know. Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Come on, Dean. I feel good, not stupid."

Dean's eyebrows arched. "Could've fooled me."

Delaying tactic. "Not gonna work, Dean."

Dean shrugged again, turning away to face Gabriel. "You'll have to go through me, first."

She smiled, stepping closer. "I doubt that will be a problem."

Mike cleared his throat. "Uh, that's what I thought, too." He pointed down at his feet. "And I'm staying right over here."

This really did not look like a good situation. "Just tell me what you want," Sam pleaded. "I might agree to it."

"No you won't," Dean snapped. "Let me handle this, Sam." His brother's voice was a low growl, but Sam could hear the pure exhaustion in it still.

"Come on, Dean." Sam rested a hand on Dean's tense shoulder. "Let's hear her out." Dean shot him an incredulous look. Yeah, okay, so it sounded crazy. Although this was probably the least crazy thing they'd done in the past week. Sam tilted his head to one side. Dean blew out a breath, eyes widening and shifting briefly to the side. Well, at least he agreed.

"See?" Gabriel demanded of Mike. "I told you Dean didn't get it all."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean again. "What?" they asked in unison.

"Uh," Mike stepped forward now. "They just do that." Gabriel spun to face him. "Where they talk without talking. They do that. I don't think it's related."

"I was sent to check, and I intend to do just that!" Thunder echoed in her words.

Dean stepped pointedly between Sam and Gabriel. "Uh, I think you better discuss what you want to do." Sam pointed to his brother behind Dean's back. "So we can get this over with and maybe still grab a few hours' sleep?"

Gabriel's eyes danced with flame. She looked right at him and Sam found his eyes forced away. "I have to check to be sure Dean got it all."

"So my word isn't good enough for you?" Dean demanded. Sam still could not lift his eyes. "You think I screwed up?"

Sam dredged his eyes from the ground to look Gabriel in the throat. No way could he look her in the eye when she looked like that. There had to be a simple way out of this. "What do you have to do to check?" Sam asked. "Dean is kind of protective of me." He grinned as he said it, a warm feeling flooding him. One of Dean's elbows jabbed backward, catching Sam perfectly in his stomach. It didn't hurt, though it could have. Sam poked his brother in the side, letting Dean know he got it, he wouldn't go anywhere unless Dean said it was okay.

"Well?" Dean demanded of Gabriel.

Gabriel's flaming eyes danced between them. "I have to know if Dean got it all."

"All what?" Sam demanded. Honestly, it was like they all spoke a totally different language from him.

Dean's head turned to give Sam a quizzical glance over his shoulder. "Dude, all that dark stuff. Weren't you paying attention?" Dean's head snapped around to face Gabriel again. "And you are NOT going inside my brother's head."

Sam thought it over. This Gabriel person (person – ha!) certainly appeared determined and Dean warned him not to cross her. Perhaps they could agree to a compromise. "Well, it wouldn't be that bad if you came too, Dean," Sam suggested, confident that his brother could handle even an archangel in his head. That would probably sound moronic if he ever said it out loud.

"No," Gabriel said and her voice was low and menacing.

His brother stepped closer to her and Sam knew Dean was staring her right in the eye. "That's the only way it's happening, bitch."

Mike flinched at that. "I'm in!" he shouted unexpectedly, moving to stand beside Dean. Gabriel glanced over at Mike, disbelief clear on her face.

"You can't be serious," she said, her tone implying far more than just the fact she thought Mike had lost his mind. Now Gabriel looked damned dangerous. Ha! An angel who looked 'damned' dangerous! Sam had to remember to tell Dean that one later, his brother would love it.

"Soddom," Mike said, his voice heavy with meaning, "and you still owe me."

Her cheeks flushed deep red, just like a regular woman. "Fine," she snapped, "but later, you're explaining your side in all this to me."

Mike's lips pursed and Sam wondered what all this meant. Finally Mike nodded. "Agreed."


	27. Chapter 27

I know I said this would be the last chapter, but it won't! I think there's still room for a chapter or two after this one. I don't post on this story until I've at least started the new chapter, to be sure I like where the current one went. Eternal thanks to all you oddballs!! (Oh, and I really hope you all enjoy being in Sam's head.)

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

Dean seethed just under the surface. Finally, finally, he knew what had been after Sam, eating his brother from the inside all these years, and he had been able to destroy it. Now this had to happen. Archangels were a royal pain the in ass.

Dean felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, showing confidence. He wished he felt as confident. Did he get it all? The last thing he remembered was blackness, but he had hoped it was just because he passed out. Dean cast a sideways glance at his brother. Well, maybe better safe than sorry. Besides, Mike was coming too.

How big of a hypocrite did that make him, to feel relieved that Mike was going into his little brother's head? A month ago he would have cheerfully unloaded every weapon he had into Mike to prevent exactly that, not that any of it would have done any good except maybe register as a protest with the archangel. Maybe. Mike was pretty stubborn.

"Let's do this," Dean grumbled, shooting a knowing look at Mike.

Mike nodded, fingers digging into Dean's arm. "Gabriel?" Mike's smooth, deep voice echoed in his ears as Mike's hand reached for the other archangel. She took it, her other hand grasping Sam's arm, completing the circle.

Dean felt the world around them swirl away, making him dizzy and lightheaded. Everyone was holding on to someone except him. Now Dean's arms flung out, grasping the first thing they made contact with in an effort to keep him on his feet. Trees merged with sky, rotating around him like they were caught in a crazy blender. It definitely didn't feel like this last time.

In one hand he had a fistful of fabric. Deciding it had to be Sam's shirt, Dean pulled his little brother in closer. His other hand held on to an arm, Mike's judging by the size and location. He tried to control his breathing, but the world around him spun faster and faster, draining beneath his feet like water in the toilet.

"Easy, Dean," Mike's voice sounded close, as if the guy were speaking directly into his ear, "we're almost there."

Dean nodded, certain no one could see it, and clung tighter. Once the swirling colors disappeared he felt solid ground under his feet. All around him was blankness, like a giant clean whiteboard. No, not totally blank, Dean realized. On one side were notes written in different colors. In blue it said 'Dean prefers his own movies, but will watch mine and act like he enjoys it'. In red it said 'Don't push too hard! Dean's still tired!'

With a scowl, Dean reached up to erase the one in red. A strong hand on his arm stopped him. He pulled against it, but could not move even a fraction out of the iron grip. When he looked back, thoroughly annoyed, he found Sam holding him.

"Those are my notes, Dean. Leave them alone." Sam did appear serious. Dean scowled. Sam smiled. "Please?"

Dean did not think his brother was really asking, not for a second. He grudgingly lowered his hand, Sam's grip relaxing.

"Yeah, this looks really suspicious," Mike said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "All that concern for his brother."

Gabriel glared at the whiteboards. "He's hiding it. No one's mind is like this."

Sam beamed. "I haven't had a chance to redecorate yet."

"Redecorate?" Gabriel spun around to face Sam. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam motioned to all the whiteboards. "This is my room. It used to be totally dark, so there really wasn't a point in decorating. You should see Dean's room, though. He has all these movie posters." Sam's head tilted to one side. "Now, that's a thought."

A few small posters appeared over one of the blank whiteboards. Dean stepped closer to check them out. One was for The Importance of Being Earnest, one for the new remake of Godzilla, and one for some porn movie. Dean reached out and tried to subtly remove that one.

"What's that?" Gabriel demanded, at Dean's side in an instant. How did she move so fast? "Why are you trying to hide this?"

"Yeah, Dean," there was laughter in Sam's voice, "why are you trying to hide that? It's my room." The poster expanded in size until it covered the entire whiteboard.

"What kind of movie is that?" Gabriel asked Mike.

Mike coughed hard into one hand. "Uh, Sam? Could we see what's outside your room, too?" Oh, bless the big guy for changing the subject.

Sam frowned for a moment before his face brightened. "Oh, you want to go in the attic? Sure, all the good stuff is in there. Come on!" Sam's face turned upward and a rope ladder fell in front of him. His little brother scampered up, as sure as some stupid squirrel.

Dean stepped closer to Mike. "You're sure this euphoria thing will wear off?"

"Hasn't it already started?" Mike asked.

"I'm really not sure," Dean admitted, but he was distracted by Gabriel following Sam. Not wanting her to be alone with his brother, Dean reached for the ladder.

"Hey Dean?" Mike asked from below him as he climbed.

"What?" Dean told himself not to look down. It wasn't like they were actually going up in the air anyway, this was all inside Sam's head. Yeah. As if that were comforting.

"It's pretty bright in here," Mike said. "Did you notice?"

Dean paused in his efforts to take a really good look around. The walls had an ethereal glow to them, like they doubled as lighting panels. "What's that mean?" he asked, glancing down at Mike.

Mike grinned up at him. "I'm pretty sure it means Gabriel won't find what she's looking for. Speaking of which…"

Right. Up. Dean concentrated on moving up the rope ladder quickly. Why the heck would Sam have a rope ladder in his head anyway? Well, at least there weren't images of Dean flying around everywhere now. Just above him was a wooden attic opening. Dean pushed up through it, finding Sam pointing out shelves of books to Gabriel. Yeah, that figured. The attic extended farther than Dean could see and was filled with rows and rows of bookshelves.

"And this is where I keep all the stuff about school. Here are my favorite memories." Sam looked around then, a smile lighting his face. "Dean, come here! I wanted you to see this!" His little brother motioned him closer, holding out a thick book. Sam thrust it into his hands.

It felt solid and heavy, bound in good leather like all the books Sam admired. Dean opened it. The first page had a picture of him with a beer bottle superglued to his fingers. He laughed, glancing over into Sam's eyes. That twinkle was there, the one Dean had never seen before today.

"It gets better," Sam promised, eyes alight with mischief.

Dean shook his head. "You're scaring me, Sam," he teased.

Sam's face blossomed into a broad grin. Yep, Sam was still stoned-happy. His brother pointed out a shelf. "I have all of these, too."

"Crap."

Sam laughed and it reached his eyes. "I like it better with the lights on, Dean. In my room, I mean." He spun around. "The attic has always been like this."

"Always?" Mike asked, looking suspiciously at the shelves. "The attic has always been like this? Wasn't it dark, too?"

Sam shook his head, hair flopping around. "Nope. I had to have someplace to read."

Dean chuckled. Now that sounded like Sammy. Gabriel investigated other shelves, peering intently at different titles.

"Those are about hunting," Sam called out. "Don't go too far, you might get lost!"

Gabriel made a sound that might be a snort before walking deliberately further away. Sam shrugged, turning around. "Anything you want to see, Dean?"

Dean flipped through a few more pages. This book was filled of all the times Sam got the best of him, or at least thought he did. He closed it with a snap. "Nah," Dean replied with a shake of his head, "I'm good." He tossed the book back to Sam.

Sam caught it and put it in its spot on one of the shelves.

"You don't have something like that…about…Dad?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Sam glanced down, scuffing one foot along the floor. "Yeah, but…it's not as big."

Dean shrugged, relieved. "At least you have one."

Sam looked up in surprise, then that stoned grin came back. "Yeah, I have one. Hey, you want to see the one I have about us?"

"Us?" Dean echoed. He felt a shove from behind. When Dean glanced back, he found Mike pretending to study the books in front of him intently. Then one of Mike's hands reached out to shove him again. "Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled softly, glaring daggers at Mike as he moved toward Sam.

"What about us?" Dean asked as he followed his little brother.

Sam rounded a couple of corners until he reached a bookcase with glass doors. Sam opened one door and pulled out another heavy book with a shiny black cover. His eyes twinkled again as he opened the book. "Check it out," Sam pointed out a picture. "This is where you taught me how to drive. And here," Sam flipped easily to another spot in the book, "where you tried to explain the facts of life to me."

"I really shouldn't have done that," Dean admitted. "Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was to have my little brother correct me on the one little detail I had wrong?"

"Little?" Sam looked at him in amazement, turning the page. "You thought the stork brought babies and left them in the mother's stomach!"

Dean shrugged helplessly. "That's what Mom and Dad told me."

Sam froze, staring at him. "Are you okay?"

Dean glanced around. What made Sam switch gears that fast? "Yeah. You?"

Sam blew out a breath. "Yeah, I'm good. Just checking." He turned to another spot in the book. "This is where you used to read to me at night."

"Checking what?" Dean asked, still confused.

Sam paused, glancing at him guiltily. "Well, sometimes when you, you know, mention Mom…" He bit his lip, shrugging. "You're not always okay."

"Oh." He considered that. Nah, easier to brush that one off. "Whatever," he replied with a shrug. "What do you keep in here?" Dean motioned to the fancy bookcase.

Sam beamed at him. "Important stuff."

Dean's eyes took in some of the titles: _Jessica, Stanford_,_ Riding with Dean_,_ Soccer_,_ Rules of the Road_,_ Best Motels_,_ How to Keep Dean from Getting Beat Up_. He stopped there. There was no need to really dig into Sam's head any deeper. Hell, he shouldn't have even looked at any of this stuff, really.

"Dean." Sam shook him by the shoulder, making Dean realize he was staring at the floor. "You didn't see this one." He pointed out the next shelf in the fancy bookcase. Grudgingly, Dean looked. It was filled with books all bound alike and bearing the same title: _The Encyclopedia of Dean_.

"Can we go now?" Dean demanded loudly, backing away.

"Damn it," Sam hissed and the words were like a spike in Dean's head. He kept backing away until his back hit another bookshelf. Sam anxiously pulled out a volume of those stupid encyclopedias. He pawed quickly through the pages. Dean watched in horrified fascination as Sam apparently found the entry he wanted. Then Sam closed the book with a loud breath. After slamming it against his head, Sam put it back.

"Dean." Sam approached him slowly, as if he might spook and take off. The irony being, of course, that Dean was considering just that. "I just wanted you to see how important I think my big brother is." Those big damned puppy dog eyes leveled on him with more punch than a shotgun. Sam's voice dropped to a whisper. "Please don't freak out just because you're important to me."

Dean cleared his throat, looking all around, anywhere that was not Sam. Eventually he had to, though. Sam's eyes pleaded with him.

"You're such a girl," Dean scoffed, trying to sound like none of Sam's special cabinet bothered him.

Sam smiled, closing the glass doors. "Maybe we should go check on my guests?"

Dean cocked his head to the side, leading the way away from Sam's 'important' shelves to go find Mike and Gabriel. Mike was easy to find, still inspecting the front bookshelves.

"Hey Sam?" Mike asked, flipping through a thick book. "Why isn't this with your important books?"

Sam's face split into another grin. "It's a copy."

Suspicious, Dean snatched it from Mike's hands. Yep, it was _Dean's Most Embarrassing Moments_. Like he really needed Mike to see that.

"Come on," Dean shoved the book on top of a shelf, "let's find Gabe and get out of here."

Mike laughed as he fell in step beside Dean.

"What?" Dean demanded. "What's so funny?"

"Gabe," Mike replied, grinning. "I like it."

Dean shook his head at the archangel. Sam was not on his other side, though. He glanced back to see Sam carefully replacing his book. "Sam! Let's go!"

"Coming!" Sam called out, big feet pounding the wooden floorboards. "Coming." Sam raced to his side.

"Get rid of that stupid grin," Dean barked. "Now, where would a chick hide out in your head, Sam? Any ideas?"

"Well, what exactly is she looking for?" Sam asked.

"Dark stuff," he and Mike replied simultaneously. Why was Sam being so hard-headed about this?

"Well," Sam paused, running a hand through his hair as he looked around, "I guess the darkest stuff would be in the hunting section. This way." Sam walked away from them. Dean followed with Mike right beside him.

"You know," Mike said conversationally, "you and Sam are one of the best teams I've ever seen." Dean shot him an incredulous look. "No, seriously, Dean. I've been thinking about it. If there was a hall of fame for it, you two would be in there."

Dean snorted. "You been sniffing harp polish again, Mike?"

Mike sighed. "You know, you don't have to have a comeback every time someone says something nice to you."

"Don't let it bug you, Mike," Sam said, suddenly beside them again. "Dean doesn't have a whole lot of experience with people saying nice things."

"Sa-a-am," Dean warned.

"It's in my encyclopedia if you want to check it out," Sam offered. Dean gave his brother a glare that Sam could not possibly misinterpret.

"Uh, maybe another time," Mike said. "Hey, is that Gabriel over there? I think I'll check."

Sam watched Mike walk away. "What is up with him lately? He hasn't been acting like himself."

Dean could only stare at his brother over that one. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

"What, Dean?" Sam asked, spreading his hands wide. "What?"

Dean shook his head. If Sam didn't know, he had no intention of telling him. Let the kid stew over it, if Sam was still capable of stewing. Where was that chick anyway?

"Dean? Have you heard back from Bobby since Mike went to see him?" Sam asked.

Dean started. That came out of the blue. "Uh, no. Guess maybe I need to call him, huh?"

Sam shook his head, long bangs bouncing around. Since this was the way Sam looked in his head, Dean guessed that was exactly how Sam wanted to look. He tried not to laugh at it. "We should pay him a visit, Dean. So we can explain in person."

Dean let out a long sigh. "Yeah, you're probably right." He swallowed hard, catching Sam's eye. "Think he'll still let us in the door?"

Sam smiled. "Of course he will, Dean. It's Bobby."

Dean nodded back, but he didn't feel as sure as Sam appeared to be. Not at all.

"I'm sure he's hiding something," Gabriel's voice reached them from a couple of rows over, "I just have to find it."

Dean tilted his head in that direction with both eyebrows up. Sam made a face at him before leading the way to Gabriel. "If you'd just tell me what you're looking for, I know I can help you find it." Sam's voice was so loud in here it created a dull echo.

Gabriel darted out from behind a bookshelf, eyes blazing again. "Where is the darkness? The part Dean couldn't destroy?"

Sam frowned at her. "It's gone. Sure I have stuff I don't want you to see, but it isn't dark like my room used to be." He shot Dean an apologetic look. "I just don't want to take it out."

"Go on, Sam," Dean replied, looking Gabriel right in those blazing eyes. "Show her. I'm getting real tired of this crap."

Gabriel glared back, until Mike stepped between them. He motioned with a hand behind his back to Dean. Dean could take a hint, really, but this time he didn't want to. If he and Gabriel had it out now, no matter how it ended Gabriel would stop harassing them.

"Dean!" Sam hissed, dragging him away. "Come on!"

"I don't want to, Sammy," Dean replied with a snarl. "Just let me get it over with."

"No, Dean!" Sam pulled harder, forcing Dean around another row of books. "We'll show her what she wants to see and then we can go back."

"Right." Dean glanced around at Sam's attic. They didn't need to be inside his brother's head for that. "Fine. So, where do you keep all the crap you don't want to remember?" Sam gave him a puzzled look. "Well, that is what you're planning to show her, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Over here, against the wall. Where the light is out."

One section of wall was darker than the rest. Dean followed his brother over, aware of the fact they were being followed. Sam produced a key from his pocket to unlock this cabinet. There were no glass doors in this cabinet, nothing to indicate that it was anything other than storage. The books inside were covered with a thick layer of dust and the spines were cracked and tattered. Sam looked away as Gabriel kneeled down in front of the books and started pulling them out. Dean stepped between his brother and the others as Gabriel frantically tore the books out of the cabinet, glancing through each one briefly before grabbing another.

"It has to be here," she muttered, books flying around her. "Has to be."

Dean exchanged a long look with Mike. Mike nodded, waving Dean and Sam away. Dean led his brother back towards the entrance. "Almost done, Sammy. Mike'll make sure she puts everything back and locks up."

"Dean?" Sam turned to face him, face streaked with tears. "She really doesn't like me, does she?"

Dean blew out a long breath, looking at the shelves around them. "So where do you keep the embarrassing stuff about Dad?"


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

Sam blinked hard, the disorienting swirling sensation making him dizzier than he thought possible. The fingers digging into his arm hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, too. He stumbled back a step, the fingers digging tighter.

"Ow!" Sam whined, sounding too much like a little kid for his liking.

The fingers instantly let up, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground. Sam rubbed his eyes, the world around him coming slowly back into focus: the dark night with the pretty stars and a few nice, old trees in this older neighborhood. Even the houses with the peeling paint were pretty nice, too.

He searched to see what hit the ground, his eyes landing on Dean with a nasty grimace on his face. Damn it! Dean's back! Sam fell to his knees beside his brother, worry filling his mind.

"Dean, what is it? Are you okay? Is it your back?" Sam grasped his brother's shoulders, wondering if his brother needed an ambulance.

"Back," Dean ground out. "Crap!" The word echoed down the street, bouncing off houses with peeling paint, through cyclone fences and past dented, rusting cars.

Long legs appeared behind Dean and massive hands reached down for him. Sam started to swat those hands away, until his eyes connected with piercing blue eyes and a warm smile.

"It's all right, Sam." Warm, comforting words flowed over and through him. Sam relaxed instantly, but he kept both hands on his brother. Mike kneeled down behind Dean and Sam thought he saw that awesome light glowing behind Dean's back. The mask of pain on Dean's face drained away, replaced by relief.

"All right," Dean said after a few minutes, "enough, Mike. I don't want to have to tip you."

Mike grinned at Sam over Dean's shoulder. "Like what? Redheads are more fun?"

Dean chuckled, motioning for Sam to help him up. As Sam pulled his brother to his feet, Dean replied, "I don't know, I've met a few brunettes who could give them a run for their money."

A throat clearing attracted their collective attention. As if they were all controlled remotely, Sam turned his head in unison with Dean and Mike. Gabriel stood a few feet away, tapping her foot insistently.

"Not to break up this testosterone fest," she said with a sneer, "but some of us have real work to do." Gabriel spun around, fading out completely as her back turned to them.

"She does have a point," Mike said with a sigh. "I should be going, too. You two keep in touch." Mike still stood behind Dean. Now he patted Dean's shoulder, in much the same way Dean often patted Sam's when they were kids. "You did a good job there, Dean."

A smile lit Dean's face as his eyes focused on Sam. "Yeah, I know."

Sam grinned back, barely noticing when Mike disappeared. "You look like you're feeling better."

Dean stretched his arms straight up in the air, then he rolled his shoulders and craned his neck from side to side. "Yep, much better. Mike even took care of the headache." He chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, I never thought I'd ever like that guy."

"Me either," Sam said, turning his brother around to head back to the house. "So, feel like leaving tonight or do you want to wait until morning?"

Dean glanced over, one eyebrow raised. "Don't we still have a couple of movies to watch?"

Sam wanted to throw an arm over his brother's shoulders for that, but he hesitated. Why did he hesitate? For the life of him, Sam could not figure it out. So he grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "I'd like that. We'll head out to Bobby's tomorrow. Or the next day."

He felt Dean's shoulders slump at that.

"Come on, Dean." Sam shook his brother a little. "It'll be good to see Bobby, won't it?"

Dean sighed. "I guess. If he doesn't try to shoot us."

"Come on," Sam argued. "Give the man some credit. It's Bobby." Since when did Dean not want to see Bobby?

Dean gave him a glance and did his brother look guilty. "Okay. Tomorrow."

"Everything will be fine, Dean," Sam assured his brother. He felt a thrill at being the one doing the reassurances for a change. Dean nodded, but did not look any happier. "Come on, Dean. I'll show you."

"Yeah?" Dean pushed open the door to the house. "How?"

Sam beamed. "I'll show you tomorrow."

* * *

Well it was tomorrow. Here they sat in the Impala outside of Bobby's house, staring at the front door. Dean used to think of this place as his favorite refuge. So why did it scare the crap out of him now?

"Dean?" Sam gave him those wide, innocent eyes. "What's wrong? We're going to see Bobby!" Sam gestured at the house. "You love this place!"

Dean glared at his overly happy brother. "That euphoria thing still hasn't worn off, has it?"

Sam beamed. "Nope!" His brother's door opened. "Let's go!"

If being stupid-happy was his brother's way of providing reassurance, Sam could keep it. However, Dean couldn't let his little brother go in there alone. He followed slowly, noticing that Sam waited at the door. When Dean was nearly within reach, Sam knocked. Obviously the euphoria thing hadn't affected Sam's intelligence, despite the stupid way his brother acted.

Dean held his breath as the door opened. Bobby stared at them a moment before the grizzled face broke into a wide grin. "Sam! Dean! Well don't just stand there, c'mon in!"

Dean tried to make himself relax as he crossed over the threshold, but he couldn't.

"Dean?" One of Bobby's hands grasped his shoulder. "You feeling all right? You look kinda sick."

Dean also could not make himself shake off Bobby's hand. "It's fine, Bobby. Nothing for you to worry about."

"You boys here to check up on me after that visit from your friend, Mike?" Bobby asked, eyeing Dean. Dean swallowed hard. "Well, how about a beer?"

Relieved, Dean nodded. Bobby disappeared into the back where the kitchen was.

"See?" Sam whispered. "No shotgun."

Dean glared back when he realized something. "Dang! I forgot to stop by The Grind. I really wanted some more of that coffee."

"What coffee?" Bobby asked, returning with three beers.

Dean resisted grabbing his and downing it. He felt a little more comfortable with the beer in his hand, though. "We met this cute chick on our last job who makes the best freaking coffee you've ever tasted. If I'd been thinking, we would've grabbed a couple of pounds for you."

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe next time. Drink your beer."

The first sip went down so smooth, Dean had to double-check that it was beer. It definitely had more kick than any beer he ever had.

"Whoa, that's some good stuff." He looked at Bobby. "Where did you get it?"

"D-d-dean?" Bobby took a shaky step backward.

Sam stepped up behind Bobby, preventing him from moving further away. "It's okay, Bobby. He can usually control it." Sam grinned from ear to ear. Dean felt a sickening sensation in his stomach.

"Control it?" Dean looked suspiciously at Sam and Bobby. "Control what?"

Sam waved his beer at Dean. "Looks like you might still need your sunglasses."

"Crap!" Dean rushed past them for the only mirror Bobby had on the first floor, in the bathroom. Yep, he had freaky glowing green eyes. "Damn!" The mirror shattered in its frame, splitting into three large fragments.

"Cool," Sam said from behind him with awe. "Dean can actually damn things."

Dean hung his head. This was not how he envisioned this visit. Then again, in his best scenario Bobby chased them off with a rocksalt shotgun. So, yeah, maybe this was an improvement. "Bobby," he started, turning around slowly, "I know you're probably…"

Bobby stood in front of him, mouth hanging wide open. "I think I need to sit down."

Bobby wandered down the hall. Sam grabbed Dean by the arm, dragging him along. They followed Bobby into the main room, where Bobby sunk down on his faded couch.

"So…" Bobby's head shook slowly. "You're a…" He looked up at Dean, squinting. "But how? And what the hell are you?"

Dean winced as a stabbing headache punctuated Bobby's words. He felt Sam's hand tighten on his elbow.

"Bobby," Sam said and his voice was serious for a change, "you're going to have to watch your language now."

"Uh, sorry. But what's going on here? What happened?" Bobby peered up at them, clearly wanting some sort of explanation.

Dean shrugged. "Honestly? I'm not sure."

"Dean beat Michael," Sam said.

"Michael?" Bobby asked, still staring. "As in the archangel? The guy you sent over here the other day?"

"I didn't send him," Dean protested. "He asked to come see you."

"Wait a minute." Bobby stood to face Dean. "Let's start at the beginning. How did this all start?"

Dean sighed, holding up his beer. "Can we get a couple more of these first?"

"Uh, Bobby?" Sam spoke up. "Hold the holy water if the eyes bother you."

Dean eyed his beer as Bobby left the room. "That's why it tasted so good?"

Sam laughed at him. "Of course it was. Bobby always adds holy water to the first beer he gives you."

"He does?" Dean shot his brother an incredulous look. "And how would you know that?"

Sam cleared his throat, looking away. Yeah, there was a story there someplace. It could be fun dragging it out of Sam later. Oh, wait. Was that how Bobby caught Sam the time that frigging demon Meg possessed his brother? That would make sense.

"Why would he do that if it changes the taste so much?" Dean asked.

Sam gave him a funny look. "Most people don't notice, Dean."

"Oh. Right. Water." He took another sip. Oh yeah, that was definitely the best beer he ever tasted. "Guess I can't drink it like this in public, huh?"

Sam laughed at him. "Guess not. I wouldn't mind if you did it at home, though. It doesn't bother me."

"No?" Dean picked an old easy chair to sit in. "I thought it freaked you out."

Sam grinned, sinking down into the couch. "Not anymore."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Euphoria."

"Euphoria?" Bobby asked, handing out fresh beers. "Is that something else I should know about?" He sat on the couch next to Sam. "So, who starts?"

Dean motioned to Sam.

"Well, it started right after we took out the demon," Sam said. He went on to explain how Michael took an interest in them, finding them special hunts, and showing up to harass Dean from time to time. "Then Dean got fed up and when Michael started one of those staring contests," Sam shrugged, "Dean won."

"And?" Bobby asked.

"And when you beat an angel in any kind of contest, there are repercussions," Dean explained.

"And when you beat an archangel?" Bobby's voice dropped suspiciously.

"Bigger repercussions," Sam answered for him. "He even has a job for them now."

Crap. Sam and his big freaking mouth.

"What kind of job?" Bobby asked, watching him curiously.

"Morale…" Sam started to answer.

"So, Bobby," Dean interrupted, not wanting to discuss what his current job might or might not be, "what did Mike want to talk to you about?"

The way Bobby shifted in his seat made Dean's stomach do a little lurch. He had the distinct feeling he was not going to like this.


	29. Chapter 29

You oddballs rock!! Here it is, perhaps the last installment, perhaps not. It's up to you – read the message at the end of this chapter.

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

Bobby studied John's boys as he decided how to answer the question about Mike. Even without the glowing eyes, Bobby could tell there was a profound difference in each of them from the last time he saw them. All of Sam's broodiness, the one thing that seemed to define his personality from childhood, was gone. Dean seemed to exude confidence, more than just about hunting. He wondered how they would take his speculations.

"Well, I gotta tell you, Dean, I'd like a little more of a warning when you send an archangel over." Bobby shot the older boy a glare.

"I was against it," Sam interjected. "I didn't like the idea of Mike being here without us."

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes as he leaned back to look at Sam. "I told you, Mike couldn't hurt Bobby even if he wanted to. And he didn't." Dean stared at Bobby for a moment. "Want to hurt you, I mean."

Bobby gave the older boy a quick nod. "And how would you know that?"

Sam grinned. "Dean knows all kinds of things now."

"Sa-a-am," Dean growled, the warning clear. Well, at least that much hadn't changed.

Bobby scratched his beard, deciding that maybe he ought to just get right down to it. "I suspect Michael, uh – Mike, was here gathering information for a trial."

Dean exchanged a confused look with Sam. "Trial? Angels have trials?"

Bobby cleared his throat. "Maybe. There isn't much literature on it, but I've made a few calls." Dean nodded, motioning with one hand for him to get on with it. Neither boy appeared surprised that he had looked into it already. "Apparently angels can hold trials over humans who have been under demonic influence. I had the feeling that Mike was handling the defense, which made me pretty nervous."

"Why?" Sam asked, that stupid grin he showed up with still plastered across the boy's face.

"Number one, because he was only interested in you," Bobby replied as he pointed to Sam. "Number two, because if one archangel was handling the defense, I figure another archangel had to be handling the prosecution," Bobby explained. He watched comprehension dawn almost simultaneously on the boys' faces.

"Gabriel," Sam breathed out.

"I'm going to kill that bitch," Dean said with a low, ominous growl that Bobby could literally feel.

"No!" Sam spun to face his brother. "Dean, you promised!"

"He promised not to kill Gabriel?" Bobby glanced between the two Winchesters. "I'm not sure it's even possible to kill an archangel, Sam."

"Sam, she really was after you," Dean protested, his eyes taking on a deeper, more menacing glow.

"Dean! You can't challenge Gabriel!" Sam shouted, jumping to his feet. Dean did not move, but those eyes didn't tone down either. "You promised! We have no idea what would happen if you won. Or if you lost." Sam breathed out that last part.

Now that was an excellent point. Dean just glared at his brother as though none of the words were seeping past that Winchester-thick skull. Probably weren't at that.

"Sam has a point, Dean. Hell, just taking on one challenge was stupid enough. Do you really want to start another?" Bobby asked, hoping Dean would see reason.

Now Dean turned those glowing headlights on him and Bobby felt a cold chill race down his spine. Da-a-amn.

"As a matter of fact I do," Dean said quite clearly. Then he slumped back, sinking into the armchair. "But I won't. Sam's right." One hand waved lazily in the air as the glow in his eyes approached normal. "I just hope she doesn't show up again any time soon."

"Again?" Bobby looked from one boy to another. "What the he-" he broke off at a warning glare from Sam. "What the heck have you boys been up to?"

"Honestly, Bobby?" Dean flashed that lop-sided grin. "Pretty much the usual these days."

Sam chuckled. "Yep, pretty much."

"I have no idea what you two are talking about," Bobby said slowly, hoping his words were capable of sinking through those thick skulls. "But maybe you two will feel more like talking over a couple of steaks and some more beer?"

Dean's grin brightened the whole room. "Now you're talking!"

* * *

Sam thought Bobby took the whole Dean's-kind-of-an-angel-now thing really well. Man, he liked Bobby! He wondered if Bobby might let him start using 'Uncle' Bobby again. Well, to be fair, Bobby never asked him to stop. Sam did that all on his own. Why did he do that? He tried to remember, to think back to his teen years, but it was all a blur of anger and yelling. He wondered if Dean knew why. Then he wondered if he really wanted to know. There couldn't have been a really good reason for it, he decided, so maybe he didn't want to know. Besides, his steak was really good.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice broke through his reverie. "Sam, you with us here?"

"Huh?" Sam looked from Bobby's curious eyes to Dean's concerned face. "Sorry, what did I miss?"

"Something bothering you, Sammy?" Dean asked, leaning forward in his chair like something might jump out of the walls at them at any moment.

Sam shook his head quickly, employing his ability to lie. "Nope. Just thinking. Now what did I miss?" He sent a fork diving into a chunk of steak to prevent them from asking where his mind was.

"Actually, I was wondering what Dean's job is?" Bobby asked, his eyes searching Dean's face.

Sam felt his face split into a grin as he swallowed his unchewed steak. "Morale officer," he said quickly, before Dean could interrupt again. "He seems to be pretty good at it too," Sam added as a pink flush spread from Dean's cheeks to cover his entire face.

"Morale officer?" Bobby asked, a thin grin snaking across the older man's face. "No kidding? What's that involve?" Bobby looked casual as he cut off another mouthful, but Sam could tell their old friend was brimming with curiosity. Well, at least this hadn't turned out the way Dean thought it would, with shotguns and exorcisms.

Sam beamed, pride for his brother growing. Finally he had an audience for it! "Dean is drawn to people who are freaking out and he helps them." He chuckled. "One time he even had to burp…"

"It changed," Dean interrupted.

Sam's head spun so fast it took the world a moment to catch up with him. "What changed?" he demanded. He carefully set down his utensils, preparing himself for whatever Dean had to say.

Dean cleared his throat. "I don't think I'm a morale officer, or whatever you want to call it, anymore."

"They took away your job?" Sam asked, disbelief flooding him. Surely Mike wouldn't allow that! Would he?

Dean literally squirmed in his chair. "Uh, not exactly."

"What exactly?" Bobby asked, using the tone that even Sam refused to disobey.

"I'm not sure," Dean hedged, pushing some of the food around on his plate. "I'm pretty sure I still have a job, I'm just not too sure what it is."

"So you think it changed?" Bobby leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. He appeared very interested. Good old Bobby! Who knows how long it would have taken for Sam to get these answers out of his brother.

Dean nodded, shifting again in his chair and looking guilty.

"You had a job and didn't tell me about it," Sam reasoned out loud, watching his brother's reaction. Yep, that was it. "What happened?"

A scowl covered Dean's features. "Some dumb kid tried to run out in front of a car. Idiot. He'll probably grow up to be a cop too. With my luck, a Fed."

"When did that happen?" Sam demanded. "I don't remember anything like that."

Dean shrugged. "Outside the grocery store."

Sam's eyes widened. "That's what you were doing when you were supposed to be waiting in the car? Dean! Why didn't you call me to help?"

One of Dean's eyebrows arched as he reached for his beer. "For what? I didn't even know why I was there until after it happened." He took a quick swig. "Besides, I figured it was going to be something stupid again." Dean glared at his beer. "It's definitely better with the holy water in it."

"Something stupid?" Bobby prompted. "Sam, care to fill me in?"

Sam rubbed his temple, a headache threatening. "I used to have a list of this stuff, but we burned it. Some of the things Dean had to do were, well, stupid. One time he had to burp a baby." He glanced over to his brother, surprised Dean allowed him to spill that one. Bobby covered his mouth with one hand. Sam didn't blame the man, he didn't like to aggravate Dean these days either. "Another time he had to get a runaway dog for some crying kid."

Bobby cleared his throat, an obvious attempt not to laugh. "So, why did you burn the list?"

"It kept getting in the way," Dean said.

"In the way?" Bobby looked between them. "Of what?"

"Us." Dean shrugged. "Couldn't allow that."

Both of Bobby's eyebrows disappeared behind his stained ballcap. "No, I guess not," he said slowly.

Sam felt himself beaming at that. He had the best big brother ever. "Oh, man, is this euphoria ever going to wear off?"

"God, I hope so," Dean said, leaning back and taking a long swig of beer.

Sam frowned. "I said that out loud?"

Dean chuckled. "Well, at least it seems to be wearing off now."

"What's with the euphoria?" Bobby asked.

With a look, Sam asked for Dean's permission. Dean shrugged, setting his beer back on the table. Sam took that as permission. After all, this was Bobby.

"There was something really bad inside me," Sam began slowly. "It was dark. Dean made it go away with this awesome light."

Those eyebrows didn't come back down. "Sam, are you trying to say that your brother healed you? Of this darkness?"

Dean's was staring down at his plate, carefully cutting up his remaining steak. "If I'd known about the euphoria as a side-effect, I might've left some."

"Not funny, Dean," Bobby growled, sounding far more intense than Sam ever remembered. Dean's head snapped up, surprised. "Do you have any idea what you did?"

Dean shot Sam a panicked look before shrugging again.

"Now, this is just speculation mind you, but based on Michael's questions and what little you two have told me, I think Sam was infected." Bobby pushed away from the table to pace room.

"Infected?" Dean's voice took on an edge. "With what?"

"My best guess? Some type of demonic infection, like that town you two were in." Bobby's pacing sped up. "That would account for the darkness in Sam and the fact your new angelic abilities could cure him. Since Sam had been fighting it himself, probably most of his life, this euphoria thing you keep talking about may not go away."

Dean's eyes took on that 'annoyed' glow. "What exactly are you talking about, Bobby?"

Bobby sighed, pausing in his pacing to face Dean. "Michael asked me all kinds of questions about Sam as a kid. He wanted to know every good thing I could remember about him." The stained ballcap wound up in Bobby's hands, the bill twisted tight in his fist. "Judging from the questions, I'd have to say they knew Sam was infected as a kid, maybe even a baby. It could've happened the night that…"

It hit Sam as Bobby's voice trailed off. It happened the night their mother was killed by the demon. Was that the real reason the demon came to their home? Did Mom just happen to interrupt it?

"Son of a bitch." Dean's low voice vibrated through Sam's bones. "It's a good thing it's dead."

Sam motioned to Bobby's table, drawing Dean's attention. His brother's fingers had burrowed into the surface causing fingerprint indentions. Dean slowly removed them, but the deep indentions were still there. Dean growled at it.

"Don't say it," Sam warned. "Remember the mirror." Dean nodded, the muscles in his jaw jumping with the strain.

Those deep fingerprints reminded Sam of something. "Bobby? Any way you can find a new dash for the Impala?"

"Huh?" Bobby turned to look at him, clearly having to tear his eyes from the table. "What for?"

Sam motioned to the table. "That kind of happened in the car."

Bobby sunk back into his chair. "This," he motioned to both of them with his hat, "is going to take some getting used to."

"Tell me about it." Sam and Dean's voices blended as they spoke. Sam chuckled at it, amazed at how much had changed lately, but how much remained exactly the same. Dean rolled his eyes, which were completely back to normal now, but a grin tugged at his brother's face.

"See?" Sam couldn't help but point out to his big brother. "I told you it would be fine."

* * *

Okay you oddballs, time for a poll! We can either end it there, or bring some other characters into the mix and see what happens. I've had to lock the door to prevent certain characters from running rampant in this oddball AU, but locks don't work well against these people. So it's either close the door now, or let loose and see what happens! What do you say? (If you say that's enough, I swear, it won't hurt my feelings!)


	30. Chapter 30

The oddballs have spoken!! Okay you oddballs, it's continuing. Well, now I know how to get some of you lurkers to tell me what you think – threaten to end it. A bit drastic though, so I won't do that again until we romp in this playground a little longer and I find a better way to conclude it.

**Chapter Thirty**

Bobby had the distinct feeling that Dean wanted to talk, without Sam around. Sam, however, did not appear to be even tired. How could he get Sam out of earshot?

"Hey, Sam?" Bobby turned to the younger brother. "You mind taking Hillary for a walk for me? We usually do a circuit of the yard this time of night."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean before answering. "Who's Hillary?"

Bobby turned to let out a whistle. A massive female mastiff lumbered into view. "Hillary, this is Sam. Sam, Hillary." Drool dripped slowly from her jowls as she eyed the boys. Hillary headed over to Dean first, leaned heavily against his leg. Dean smiled as he rubbed her neck. She made a funny grunting noise, like it was better than sex. Bobby decided that he really didn't want to know, even though he noticed what might be a glow coming from Dean's fingertips buried deep in her fur.

"Go say hello to Sam," Dean urged, giving the dog a gentle shove toward Sam. The big dog stood regarding the younger brother an instant before she sat directly in front of him.

Sam reached out with a tentative hand. "It's friendly, right? Dogs don't always like me."

"She, Sam," Dean corrected. "Give her a chance, she's gonna love you." Dean winked at Bobby while Sam concentrated on the dog. Yeah, Bobby needed to ask about that.

Sam's hand touched the dog and she leaned into it. A slow smile blossomed on Sam's face as he rubbed the dog's ears and she grumbled agreeably, like she was trying to encourage him to keep it up.

"Take her for that walk, Sam," Dean said. "She'll love you forever."

Sam chuckled. He patted his leg as he stood and Hillary jumped to her feet to follow. "Just around the yard?" he asked Bobby.

Bobby motioned to the dog. "She knows what to do, just follow her lead, Sam."

Bobby waited until the two were outside before he turned to Dean. "She'll love him forever, Dean?" Dean shrugged, a small smile on his face. "You did something, didn't you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Geez, Bobby, you're getting as bad as Sam."

"Sam is usually right when it comes to you," Bobby pointed out. "And you didn't answer my question."

"That's because I didn't want to answer it. I wanted to talk to you about this trial thing," Dean replied. If Bobby stared hard, he could just see some green glowing in Dean's irises. He decided that he didn't want to stare that hard. "So, do you think it already happened or that it's coming up?"

"That's bothering me as well," Bobby admitted. "You met Gabriel too, huh?"

Dean's smile twisted into a scowl. "What a bitch." He sighed, eyeing his beer again. "I don't suppose?" Dean held up his bottle.

Bobby sighed, retrieving a shot of holy water from the fridge where he hid the stash he kept for doctoring drinks. He poured it into Dean's beer. Dean took a sip, eyes closed as he swished it around in his mouth. "Oh yeah," he murmured slowly, "that's the good stuff." When Dean's eyes opened again they glowed, probably enough to see in the dark.

"So can you see in the dark?" Bobby asked, the question out before he could stop himself.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in the hard wooden chair. "When I want to," he admitted.

Bobby shook his head. That conversation could wait – maybe forever. Hillary wouldn't keep Sam occupied outside all night. "What happened with Gabriel?"

Dean stared hard at his beer as he answered, his voice tight. "She was convinced I didn't get it all. She wanted to check."

"Check? She wanted to check that you really healed Sam? How?" Bobby leaned forward, anxious. These were archangels they were talking about, not the kind of angels that sat on fluffy clouds playing harps or finding people parking spaces. These angels defeated dragons.

The appropriate text from the Bible ran through Bobby's head:_Revelation 12: 7-9 "And war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. The dragon and his angels fought back, but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him." _

Dean shook his head. "I shouldn't have let them, Bobby. I really shouldn't have." He sighed, meeting Bobby's eyes. That glow actually seemed sad, and it made Bobby feel sad. "Nobody should have a couple of archangels poking around in his head, Bobby. That's just wrong."

"In his head?" Bobby sat staring, stunned. "They had to go inside Sam's head?"

Dean nodded, swirling his beer in the bottle before taking another swig. "Yeah. At least we were able to get the place cleaned up a little first. That attic of his, though." Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "You'd be jealous of all the books in that kid's head, Bobby."

"When you say cleaned up, you mean that from when you healed him, right?" Bobby waited for Dean to nod. "So did Gabriel find anything?"

Dean shook his head again. "Nah. She was pretty pissed about it, too." He chuckled. "Bitch."

"Dean." Bobby shook his head at his young, brash, friend. "You really shouldn't talk about archangels like that."

Dean rolled his eyes, lifting the beer bottle to his mouth again. "So do you think they've had Sammy's trial yet?"

Bobby shrugged. "Who knows? Time probably doesn't even work the same for them as it does for us."

Dean's eyes dropped back to his beer again. "I could call Mike and ask him."

"You can do that?" Bobby asked, studying Dean. He always did have a soft spot for this boy.

Dean nodded slowly, studying his beer. About that time they heard a hard rock tune playing. Frowning, Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket. With a shrug, he answered it. "Hello?"

"Who is this?...Bela?"

Bobby's heart stuck in his throat. Bela? That woman was nothing but trouble, not to mention a raving bitch.

"You have a lot of nerve calling me now," Dean growled into the phone.

"Hillary!" Sam's voice carried clearly indoors. "Hillary, get back here!"

"Yes I'm talking about the Colt." Dean moved to look out the window. "What do you think I'm talking about?" he asked as he peered out.

"What? You know what, lady? If you really want help, call a psychiatrist." Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Come on, Bobby. There's something going on outside."

Bobby followed as close as he could, but Dean was younger and in a hell of a lot better shape. He snagged a shotgun on his way out the door.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed as he ran toward his brother. Bobby trailed a few feet behind, hoping nothing had entered the yard. He rounded a stack of cars after Dean, stopping short so he wouldn't run into the kid.

"Sam?" Dean asked, a quaver in his voice.

Bobby peered over Dean's shoulder to see the problem. The sight that greeted his eyes made him chuckle. Hillary squirmed on her back, legs straight up in the air, while Sam gave her a world-class belly rub.

"Uh, Dean?" Bobby asked, trying to choke back a chuckle. "Is this what you expected?" The shotgun dangled loosely from his hand.

Dean turned on one heel, eyes scanning the area. The intensity of his expression forced Bobby to check the area out too as his hand tightened on his weapon.

"There's something here," Dean muttered, circling his brother and the dog. The fact Hillary did not seem disturbed made Bobby wonder if perhaps the events of the past month were simply catching up with his young friend.

"Dean?" Sam asked from his kneeling position, fingers still kneading soft canine belly. "What's going on?"

"Just checking out the area, Sam. Nothing to worry about it." Dean waved a hand as though he did not have a care in the world, but that look in his eyes said otherwise. "Let's go inside. Now."

Sam leapt to his feet, the dog imitating him instantly. Hillary whined as her ears perked toward Dean and her brow furrowed. Dean jerked his head away from them. The dog jumped forward in that direction, powerful muscles propelling her forward.

"You two head back to the house. We'll be there in a minute." Dean said, eyes pinned to the dog.

"No, Dean." Sam walked up on the other side of his brother. One hand gripped Dean's shoulder. "What's here?"

Dean frowned. Hillary returned a moment later. She whined as she approached Dean, head down and moving slow like she needed forgiveness. Dean sighed as he reached down.

"I guess it's gone," he replied, stroking Hillary's head. "Good girl. You did just fine."

She shook and slobber flew in all directions, including Dean. Dean just chuckled and scratched under her chin. "Yeah, you're a good dog. Come on." He led the way back to the house, the mastiff following close on one side and his brother on the other. Bobby followed, always followed, but this time he kept a wary eye and ear out for anything out of the ordinary. When Hillary took off like that, it was enough to convince Bobby there was really something out there. That, or Dean now had dog mind control. He figured he preferred believing something was in the yard.

Just before crossing over the threshold into the house, Dean paused. He glanced around again, suspiciously, before going into the house. The look on his face made all the hairs on the back of Bobby's neck stand straight out. Bobby had always been glad he and the Winchesters were on the same side, but never more so than today.

* * *

She watched the men go into Singer's house. Damn. So close. There were not many opportunities to get Sam Winchester alone any more, not with that brother of his always hovering so close. She had had the opportunity and she blew it. No closer now than she had been a month ago when she escaped Hell, Ruby headed back to the road. Even without a potential ally, she had plenty of work to do.

A large man with dark wild hair and stunning blue eyes stood at the road. He seemed to be waiting for something. As she headed for the road, intending to take care of a couple of things until she found a good way to talk to Sam Winchester, the large man blocked her way.

"Back off, pal," Ruby snapped. "I'm not in the market."

He glared at her. "And what exactly did you think you were doing here?"

She rolled her eyes as she attempted to push past him. When she couldn't take a step past, her feet stuck as though in solid concrete, Ruby took another look at the guy. "What are you?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here," he said with a snarl. "Why were you trying to get close to Sam Winchester?"

She frowned. He couldn't be just another hunter, not with the way she was unable to move her feet. Okay, technically they were not her feet, they were 'borrowed,' but it wasn't like her 'host' really minded. A higher ranking demon maybe? She had the unshakeable feeling that whatever-he-was could either send her back to hell or destroy her where she stood.

"Why?" Ruby demanded, trying not to sound intimidated. Showing fear just gave other demons an edge. "I suppose you have better plans for him? That brother of his will never let him lead the stupid legion."

His eyebrows arched. "Stupid legion?"

She blew out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, come on! Everybody knows what I think about it."

"Well I'm not everybody," he told her. Wow, what a voice. She almost wanted to lose herself in it. "Why don't you tell me what you think about it?"

"Got a name?" Ruby asked.

"Do you?" he asked back.

Now names held power, and she was not quite ready to just hand hers over without knowing which demon she was consorting with. "Yep."

He nodded at her, his wild dark curls bouncing in their own personal breeze. "Me, too."

"Well," she tried to shift from foot to foot, but they were still superglued to the pavement, "glad we got that sorted out. So what's your interest?" Ruby jerked her head toward the house. While she talked she ran through her mental catalogue of spells. There were a couple that might account for this, but none felt quite right and there was no way she would be able to perform a counterspell stuck here anyway. Her best bet – check that, only bet – was to talk her way out of it. Not exactly her strong suit.

The guy just shrugged, those amazing blue eyes darting toward the house and back. "Sometimes, I'm not really sure."

She stared, but he didn't offer any more. "You are one strange guy. You know that?" He shrugged again. "You're not going to just let me go, are you?" Ruby wondered if she would be able to escape from hell again if this creepy, great-looking but creepy, guy took her back down there.

"Tell me the truth and I might," he said.

For some strange reason that she couldn't fathom, Ruby believed him. "I hate the legion. I hate the other demons." He continued to stare at her. "What? You want me to say I'm here to get the so-called messiah to lead the fight against the legion?"

He nodded slowly. "That's what came out of the hell's gate? An organized legion?"

Ruby shrugged. What was this? A test? "I wouldn't say organized. After the Winchesters killed Yellow Eyes and Sam didn't turn, there wasn't exactly any cohesive leadership left."

He let out a long breath. "Well, at least we have that."

"What?" She glared at the strange man. This wasn't a test, was it? What the hell was he?

"I guess you can go." He nodded toward the road. "You haven't broken any of the rules so technically I can't interfere. But if Dean catches you..." He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his face.

She looked toward the road. When Ruby looked back, the man with the wild hair was gone. Her eyes searched the sky, but there weren't even traces of black demon smoke. So, not a demon then. But then what the hell was he? Maybe she didn't want to think about that right now. Right now she needed to get to where a pair of demons who had taken particular pleasure in tormenting her down below were terrorizing a little town. Ruby looked forward to showing off her new knife when she caught up with them. Afterwards she could worry more about the Winchester brothers.


	31. Chapter 31

Unfortunately, my theological advisor is on vacation and I really, really wanted to post this chapter, so my apologies if anything is too 'off.' _**Charis-Kalos**_ (who has been humbling editing the last few chapters), you're getting the character you wanted me to add! I hope you like him!!

**Chapter Thirty-one**

Dean felt amped up, on edge, inside the house. He kept peering out windows thinking he might catch a glimpse of something evil stalking them. So far – nothing. That was not reassuring.

"Dean? Would you relax?" Sam asked. Dean turned from the window to look at his brother. The utterly happy expression Sam usually had plastered all across his face lately had been replaced by familiar worry and concern. The change was not only welcome, but probably the best thing that happened since this whole mess started.

"I can't, Sam," he tried to explain. "I just feel like there's something out there."

A deep frown creased Sam's face. "Then let's go get it."

Dean shook his head, moving to block the door. "No, Sam. You're safer inside the house."

Sam's eyes hardened and narrowed. "I'm safer?" he asked in a soft, dangerous voice. "What's going on, Dean?"

He peered out the window again. That sense of danger which pulled him into the yard went away a while ago, but Dean just couldn't shake it. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Maybe it was just a bad feeling."

"I doubt it," Sam replied, motioning to the dog. "Hillary has been on edge since we came inside. She won't even roll over so I can rub her belly."

"She feels guilty," Dean said. At Sam's puzzled expression, he explained, "Because she was too wrapped up in that belly rub to notice anything wrong outside."

A hint of a smile tugged at Sam's face. "So you talk to dogs now?" he asked softly.

"What?" Dean spun to face his brother. "Are you crazy?"

"How do you know the dog feels guilty, Dean?" Sam asked, more demanding this time.

"I-I…" Dean stammered, eyes darting wildly between Sam and the dog. Finally he thrust his hands out toward the dog. "She looks guilty."

Sam chuckled as he shook his head. "Dude, it's not the end of the world. I've always read that angels and animals had an innate affinity."

"Huh?" Dean stood blinking at his brother. There were WAY too many books in that boy's head.

"I'm just saying that it doesn't surprise me. We'll probably run across more things like this." Sam shrugged, his old smile, the one that wasn't happy-happy-joy-joy, spread slowly. "Not that I mind. It's really kind of cool."

He stared hard at his brother. Sam could still lie, but this didn't feel like a lie. Oh, God, was he a human lie-detector now too? "Bela called," he said instead of responding to that. Avoidance usually worked pretty well.

"Bela?" Now his brother seemed interested. "Did she say why she called? She didn't ask where we are, did she?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, just something about needing help."

"And?" Sam scooted forward to sit on the edge of his seat. "Are we?"

Dean glared at his brother. "No. I told her to call a therapist if she was serious about wanting help."

Sam laughed, his voice ringing through the house. His head hung down and his shaggy hair bounced as he laughed. When Sam looked up there were tears of laughter in his eyes that he wiped away with his palms. "Dude," Sam breathed out roughly, "you'll never change."

Bobby, drawn by the laughter, stood in the doorway. "Good thing," he added, nodding.

Dean shrugged, really not getting the matching grins on their faces. Hillary lumbered over to sit on his right foot. She craned her neck all the way back to look at him. One hand reached down to rub her head while the other rubbed the back of his neck. "Anybody else hungry?" he asked, hoping to deflect this attention.

Bobby chuckled now. "Pizza? I know a good place that delivers."

"What do you say, girl?" he asked Hillary. The dog leaned heavily into his touch and Dean could almost feel her salivate at the thought of pizza. Dean looked back at Bobby. "She likes the all meat kind."

"Don't I know it," Bobby grumbled. "Damn dog usually steals at least one piece."

Dean winked at Hillary as he rubbed her ears. "Don't worry, I'll sneak you some of mine."

Sam laughed again. "Right. Don't listen to him, Hillary. He'll probably bite you if you get too close to his food."

Dean couldn't help but laugh with his brother, and it felt really good.

* * *

Bela scowled at her phone. She really thought that line about needing help would hook Dean. For a hunter he had a huge soft spot for people in trouble, not like that Walker guy. Dean thought she needed therapy? Ha. Hunters made her look positively normal. She just had the kind of job where she had to have contact with hunters, it was one of those job-related hazards that Bela had to deal with.

She pulled out her spirit board. Those Winchesters were supposed to have an amulet a certain client would pay really good money for. If they couldn't be convinced to part with it, then Bela might need to work a little harder. Jobs like this made her life interesting.

One of her lines when she didn't really want to help out was that sometimes the spirit world was in a chatty mood and sometimes it wasn't. That was a lie. There was always one spirit who would answer her. The face of her father floated out of the spirit realm to smile at her.

"How's my girl?" he asked, his voice rich and deep in her mind.

"Okay, Daddy. I need to find the Winchesters. They have a valuable amulet that they really aren't making the best use of." She smiled at the image of her father.

Her father's smile widened. "So they don't want to sell? That's my girl. I'll ask around."

His face disappeared from over the board. Bela waited impatiently. Time worked differently in the spirit world, it usually didn't take Daddy too long to get back to her. After twenty minutes she started to wonder. After an hour she worried. After two hours Bela called her father again. Could anything bad happen to him in the spirit world?

Her father's scowling face can into focus over her spirit board. "Sorry, baby," he said slowly, "no one here will tell me where the Winchesters are. They have some heavy duty protection these days. Maybe you should pass on this one."

Her jaw dropped. "Pass? Did you ever pass on a job, Daddy?"

His scowl deepened. "No. But I don't think I ever went up against this kind of protections either. If you're going to do this, it'll have to be my way."

She smiled at her father. "Okay, Daddy. I can do that."

"Be careful, Baby," he told her as he faded from sight. She needed several deep breaths before she could move from the table. Well, Bela liked a good challenge.

* * *

A knock sounded at the door. Bobby paused before answering. Dean appeared on the stairs, alert for the early morning hour and dressed except for his bare feet. He nodded at the door, so Bobby peered out the window. A man wearing jeans, rough outdoorsman shirt and boots stood there with his hands stuffed in his front pockets. Bobby pulled the door partially open.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Somehow he knew that Dean now stood only a few steps away, ready to jump in.

The man smiled at him and Bobby felt instantly at ease. "Are you Mister Singer?" he asked. "I was told I could find some friends here."

"Yeah?" Bobby might have felt at ease, but suspicion was more than just second nature to him. "And who might that be?"

"Well, actually, I'm looking for Dean Winchester." The man gave a shrug that might be off-hand or really good acting. "May I speak with him?" He craned his neck to look over Bobby's shoulder.

Bobby bristled. How could this guy know anyone was here? He reached for the shotgun behind the door with one hand, trying to look inconspicuous. He felt a hand grip his shoulder. Bobby looked back into Dean's bright green eyes. Even without the glow they seemed brighter these days.

"It's okay, Bobby," Dean breathed into his ear. "I can handle this." The boy pressed past him out the door, pulling it closed behind him. Bobby felt helpless just peering out through the window, watching.

"Bobby?" Sam's steps on the stairs were almost as quiet as his brother's. "What's going on?"

"Wish I knew, Sam," he admitted, still looking out the window at the two men on his front porch. At least it appeared to be a peaceful conversation. As Sam joined him at the window, Dean turned to face the stranger. Try as he might, Bobby could not hear a word the two spoke.

"Hear anything?" he whispered to Sam. It was probably just one of those annoying things about getting older, that his hearing was starting to go.

"No," Sam whispered. "I can't hear anything from outside."

Bobby frowned. Now that he paid attention to it, he realized that he couldn't hear anything from outside either. There was no sound of wind, cars going by on the road, or insects buzzing near the windows. "That's just weird," he hissed to Sam.

"Yeah. Welcome to my life," Sam muttered back darkly.

Startled, Bobby turned to look at Sam. Really look at him. "So the euphoria is wearing off?"

Sam shrugged. "It comes and goes," he said. "Mostly it comes, though." He grinned suddenly. "Like when I want to call you Uncle Bobby."

Bobby stared for a moment. "I'm growing a whole new level of respect for that brother of yours."

Sam's face fell. "Does that mean I can't call you Uncle Bobby?" he asked sadly.

Bobby shook his head. "Sam, you can call me Diana Ross if you want." The goofy smile returned. "Just do me a favor and don't call me Diana in front of that brother of yours."

Sam nodded enthusiastically. "But Uncle Bobby is okay, right?"

Bobby scratched at the whiskers on his cheek. "Uh…yeah. That's fine."

Sam beamed until his gazed fell on the scene of Dean speaking with that man outside. The old Sam, the one that worried until he brooded, returned. "I really don't like this. I'm going out there." Those eyes bored into him. "Mind if I borrow a shotgun, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby wanted to laugh but he couldn't, something felt off to him too. He just handed over his shotgun and hoped Sam wouldn't need it. Sam opened the door, the shotgun held tight in one hand. The boy pulled the door to, but not closed.

"Dean?" Sam said, moving to stand just to his brother's side. It was pretty clear from his stance that it was a protective move. "What's going on?"

"Hey, Sam," Dean said easily. "This is Ralph. Ralph, my brother, Sam."

"Pleasure." Ralph held out a hand. "You always carry a shotgun outside?" He smiled and for some reason Bobby was reminded of Michael.

"Only when I'm worried about my brother," Sam replied, not shaking hands.

"Dude," Dean said softly, "you're being rude."

Sam gave his brother a nasty look, but then he shifted the shotgun to his left hand so he could shake Ralph's outstretched hand.

"That's Bobby hiding behind the door. I think you already met, though," Dean said. Bobby stepped out into the stranger's view.

Ralph held out a hand. "Pleasure," he repeated.

Bobby nodded in response as he reached for the offered hand. When he grasped it, a quick shock ran through him. Bobby yanked his hand back as if it had been burned.

"Sorry about that, Mister Singer," Ralph apologized. "I'm afraid it's an occupational hazard."

"How's that?" Bobby asked, massaging his tingling hand.

"Ralph works with Mike and Gabriel," Dean explained.

"Ralph?" Sam asked. "I never heard of an angel named Ralph."

"Yes you have," Bobby said slowly as he studied what appeared to be a man standing on his porch. "Rapheal, right?"

The man's smile was blinding. "You're as good as Dean says," he replied with a short bow.

Bobby tipped his cap. "And you're my favorite angel."

"Why is that?" Dean asked, turning to face Bobby.

"Raphael helps folks take down demons," Bobby said.

Dean nudged Sam with his elbow. "I knew I liked him."

"Is there anyone you don't like these days?" Sam asked in a pissy voice.

"This coming from you? Mister sunshine with rainbows shooting out your ass?" Dean demanded.

Raphael laughed. "I can see working with you two is going to be just as much fun as I heard."

"Why are you here?" Sam demanded, shifting the shotgun to his right hand.

"You do realize rocksalt won't work on me?" Raphael asked. Dean and Sam shrugged in unison. "There is a demon tracking Sam," he said, "and we think someone has been asking the spirits of people who have crossed over for your location."

"The demon tracking Sam?" Dean stepped forward, placing his body between Sam and Raphael. "It's been asking about our location?"

"We don't think so," Raphael replied. "Demons have their own ways of tracking humans. Whoever he is, he's probably human."

"He?" Bobby asked.

"In the English language, he is used as a generic term," Sam said before Raphael had a chance to open his mouth. Raphael nodded affirmatively in Sam's direction.

Raphael cleared his throat. "I have to be going, but I wanted to give you a heads-up, Dean. Oh, and congratulations on the new job."

Dean nodded quickly. "Sorry you can't stay, Ralph." Dean's voice said that Raphael had already overstayed his welcome.

"Right." Raphael gave them a parting smile before walking away. "I'll get back to you on that other business later." Before Bobby's amazed eyes, Raphael dissipated into the stacks of cars.

"Dean? What new job?" Sam stared at his brother. Bobby decided that now might be a good time to go inside.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-two**

Dean looked downright guilty as Bobby slipped back inside the house. Sam glared at his brother, determined to know what the hell was going on now.

"Look, Sam, it isn't that big of a deal," Dean protested, hands spread wide. "Honest."

"Maybe not to you," Sam replied, doing his damnedest to keep his voice calm, "but it might be to me."

Dean's eyes rolled. When they settled, Sam noticed that even though they were not glowing they seemed to be more. Whether they were more green, intense, hard or strong he couldn't say, but those eyes were definitely compelling. "Sam, I swear, it's barely a step up from morale."

Then Dean froze. He stared down at his stomach before his eyes drifted toward the horizon. "Crap!" He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and raced for the car.

Sam kept up easily, his longer strides making up for his brother's head start. He slipped into the passenger seat as Dean started the car. That was when he noticed that his brother had not bothered to put on shoes yet.

"Uh, Dean? You're still barefoot."

"No kidding, genius!" Dean snapped as the big car came to life with a louder than usual roar. Tires spun as Dean slammed it into reverse, a dust cloud kicking up around them. The shift into drive was not smooth either, and Sam was slammed into the seat.

He waited until they were on the road, going well over the speed limit, before speaking again. "I think you have an old pair of boots in the trunk," Sam offered.

"Well I'm not pulling over to put them on," Dean said with a snarl, "we don't have time."

"Okay." Sam settled into the seat. "So where are we going?"

"This way." The engine gave another roar as Dean pressed harder on the accelerator.

Sam rolled his eyes at the landscape flashing past. "Can you at least tell me why we're in such a hurry?"

Dean's jaw clenched, muscles jumping in his cheek, but he didn't offer anything else. Okay, that probably meant big brother didn't know either. Sam decided he had to wait it out. They slowed down near a bridge. Dean spun the wheel, the car swerving as they ran off the road. They stopped in a dust cloud right before the hard packed dirt dropped off into the ravine below. Sam followed his brother's mad dash out of the car. Without slowing, Dean dove off the side of the ravine.

His heart slamming into his ribcage, Sam raced to the edge. Dean's body sailed through the air toward the swollen, rapid water below. After his brother disappeared with a splash, Sam tore down the side of the ravine. Near the bottom he encountered two young teens yelling at the water.

"Steve! Steve!"

"What's going on?" Sam demanded.

One of the teens jumped at the sound of his voice. "Our friend is down there," he said on the verge of tears.

"What happened?" Sam asked, his eyes scanning the water. Still no sign of Dean.

"We dared him to swim across," the other boy said, barely more composed than his friend. "I didn't think he'd really do it. I figured he'd chicken out."

Sam groaned as he made his way past the kids toward what normally would be a shallow, calm ravine. Today it resembled more of a river raging its displeasure at restrictive confinements. About fifty feet on the other side of the bridge, he saw something dark and oval pop above the water's surface. Breathing with relief, Sam ran along the concrete bank toward it.

The head bobbed along, growing in size until Sam could see that his brother dragged something through the water with him. He waded out as deep as he could without succumbing to the torrential current. When Dean was close, Sam helped haul the unconscious boy out of the water.

"Come on," Dean muttered, shaking the boy's shoulders, "breathe. Breathe."

"Do the glowing thing," Sam suggested.

Dean rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath before laying his hands on the boy's chest. "I said breathe!" he muttered as soft white light soaked through the kid's clothes.

Within moments the boy coughed. Sam helped roll him on his side. He coughed again, sputtering out ravine water. Next came whatever the kid had for breakfast followed by a series of dry heaves. Sam looked pleadingly at Dean, but his brother shook his head. The teen's friends hovered over him with a mixture of shock and relief. Then the boy sat up.

Dean leaned right into the kid's face, a soft green lighting his eyes. "You do know how stupid that was, don't you?" he asked softly, but the tone in his voice sent cold shivers down Sam's spine.

The kid nodded slowly. "Yes, sir," he said in a rough voice, "won't happen again."

"It better not." Dean pointed a finger in the teen's face. "Because next time, there won't be anyone hanging around to save your sorry ass."

The boy's eyes widened. Sam guessed he could see the glow now. He swallowed hard and nodded again.

"And you two," Dean stood, shaking the excess water out of his short hair, "you idiots can take him home and explain, exactly, what happened to his parents. Got me? Or do I need to do it for you?"

Both boys shook their heads. "No, no, we'll do it. Honest."

Dean glared at them until the ground at their feet became very interesting. "Then we're done here. Come on, Sam."

Sam followed his brother back up to the car. Dean dug a worn and faded towel he liked to use for washing the Impala out of the trunk. He folded it and laid it in the driver's seat before sitting down. Sam sat in his usual spot.

"New job?" he asked softly before Dean could turn the key.

The engine caught smoothly, the roar from earlier replaced by machine precision. "Yeah."

* * *

Dean wanted to turn on some music in an attempt to drown out the upcoming conversation, but he figured that would only be delaying the inevitable. He chose to go ahead and get it over with now, if Sam asked. Of course Sam would ask, Dean realized, the kid was probably totally freaked.

"At the grocery store, you saved a kid who tried to run out in front of a car, right?" Sam asked. Dean did not make eye contact, but he gave a quick nod as he pulled on to the road. "And now you raced out here to save a kid from drowning." Sam's fingers drummed an odd rhythm on the dash, above the hand imprints. "So I'm guessing your job now is to save people from trying to off themselves by their own stupidity?"

Dean swallowed the dry lump in his throat. Sammy was unbelievably smart. "You're close."

"So?" He felt Sam turn in the seat to look at him. "What is it?"

Dean shrugged. "I try to save kids who are about to die from something stupid."

"Try to?" Sam asked and Dean could hear the incredulity in his brother's voice. "What do you mean, try to?"

Dean sighed as he made the turn toward Bobby's. "Come on, Sam, there's no way I could possibly save every kid who either tries something stupid or is the victim of stupidity. I'd never get any sleep. Basically, if I'm in the area I'll know about it and I can do my best."

"Is that what Raphael came to talk to you about?" Sam asked. That kid was too damn smart for his own good.

"Yeah. With this new job, people can die, kids. Ralph wanted to prepare me for that." Dean rolled his eyes. "Like I hadn't already been dealing with that for years."

Sam snorted. "No kidding."

They rode the rest of the way to Bobby's in comfortable silence. Dean figured Sam needed time to wrap his head around the new job, and decide how best to help Dean out with it. He hoped Sam banked on basically what just happened, being there and providing crowd control. Not that two teenagers constituted a crowd, but if it made Sam feel useful, and prevented him from needing to save two more kids, then he'd take it.

He turned the key and his baby hummed gently as the engine shut down. Yeah, she sounded pretty sweet.

"Dean?"

Now what? "Yeah, Sam?" He glanced over at Sam's serious face, the one his brother got researching a hunt or arguing with Dad.

"Can I borrow the car?" Sam stared right at him. "I want to go pick up a few things in town."

"Uh…sure. Okay. Want me to come with you?" He stared in disbelief at his brother. Was this so different from morale officer that Sam needed to be alone to deal?

Sam shook his head. "Nah, it's no big deal. I'll be back before you know it. Besides, this way you and Bobby can finish your talk from last night."

Dean started. "What talk?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Please, Dean, I know both of you better than that! When I get back, I expect you two to be done bitching about the euphoria thing. And you can tell Uncle Bobby I said that." A broad grin, complete with dimples, spread across Sam's face.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean chuckled, marveling at his brother's ability to adapt. "Yeah, I'll do that."


	33. Chapter 33

My apologies for the delay! My esteemed theological advisor is becoming more important as this odd AU progresses. (We're gonna have a trial! We're gonna have a trial!)

**Chapter Thirty-three**

Sam noticed the hesitation as his brother handed over the car keys. He wanted to reassure his brother that he was not sneaking off just to get away from Dean, but he didn't know how without inviting Dean along. That would defeat the whole purpose. Sam needed some time alone to think. So much had happened so quickly, he really couldn't wrap his head around it all yet. He wasn't freaked out by any of it, which was weird all by itself, but he did need some time to analyze things.

"How long will you be?" Dean asked as Sam slid behind the wheel.

"Not long. Just a couple of errands. Now you two go get all your bitching and moaning done while I'm gone." Sam flashed a grin at his brother. "I want happy faces when I get back."

Dean's eyes rolled, a soft hue lighting them. Sam wasn't sure if that meant amused or annoyed, but right now it didn't matter. He turned the key and the ignition turned over so smoothly he could swear it was a movie sound effect instead of a real vehicle. The drive to the store was essentially uneventful, but the Impala's soft hum grew louder the further from Dean he drove. Sam grinned at the discovery. He suspected as much. Even the car responded to Dean and his moods. Then the implication of that sunk in further. How much influence did Dean have over _him_ now?

Sam pondered the question as he headed inside the store. He needed candy. Maybe beer, too.

-

* * *

Ruby paused mid-step. Her targets were inside that bar, but something had changed. She searched her feelings, the ones she still had, and discovered a shining opportunity. The spell to take her back to Sam Winchester had to be performed quickly. Ruby ducked between buildings as she pulled a bag from her pocket. After examining the contents, items sure to make the average person nauseated at the very least, she closed her eyes as she chanted the spell. Wind whipped her hair and face. Ruby squeezed her eyes tighter. Her borrowed body felt as though it was under pressure from every direction, like she was immersed deep in the ocean under tons of water. Then, as suddenly as it started, the pressure fell away and the wind stopped. She opened her eyes slowly.

She was standing in the aisle of a supermarket. "The one chosen to lead a demonic legion is grocery shopping?" She snorted, glancing around to see if her unorthodox arrival had been observed. A little kid, definitely under ten, stood at the end of the aisle watching with huge eyes. "What are you looking at?" she snapped.

The child continued to stand and stare. "Henry? Henry, where are you?" A woman in jeans, an old band tee-shirt and fuzzy blue house-slippers pushed a cart around the corner. "Henry! How many times have I talked to you about not taking off like that?" She glanced over at Ruby. "I'm sorry, I hope he wasn't bothering you?"

Ruby glowered at the woman before snorting again and turning away. She needed to find Sam Winchester. As she walked along the aisles, Ruby marveled that someone as tall as Sam Winchester did not stand out. As a matter of fact, she passed him twice before she realized that she had found him.

"Excuse me?" she said with a smile. "Aren't you Sam?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously and her stomach fluttered with a rare emotion: hope. He might still be what she needed. "What makes you think that's my name?"

Ruby broadened her smile. "I know Bobby Singer," she said. It wasn't exactly a lie. Singer had sent many of her kind back to hell and Ruby was doing her level best not to cross the man. "He's mentioned you." Yeah, just not to her, obviously.

Sam's stiff shoulders relaxed and he took another assessing look of her. "Bobby's a good guy." His eyes searched the shelf and he grinned as his hand reached for a box of mac 'n cheese. "So what's your name?"

"Ruby." She took a step closer to him, pitching her next statement at a whisper. "There are demons coming for you."

Sam spun towards her, clearly startled. "Wh-what? Who are you?"

Ruby glanced around, worried that something might be eavesdropping. "Can we take this outside? Someplace private?"

"Uh, I guess." Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around, worried. "My brother's car is in the parking lot. That private enough?"

Ruby shrugged. "I guess it'll have to do." She walked away, expecting Sam to follow. As she rounded the corner out of the grocery aisle, Ruby realized that she was alone. "Uh, are you coming or what?" she demanded.

Sam waved one hand at her. "In a minute. We need oatmeal."

This was the chosen one? Ruby looked around for a wall she could pound her head against.

-

* * *

Bela giggled as she moved closer to the hunter. She slid a hand up his thigh. He looked immensely pleased at the turn of the events.

"Bobby Singer?" Bela asked, shocked. She giggled again to cover it. "Bobby Singer was one of John Winchester's confederates?" She stared hard at the hunter giving her the information as she tried to sound casual. It didn't come cheap, even with her considerable skills at persuasion thrown in. Apparently it was bad business selling out a Winchester. Dean especially had a reputation for being unstable and ruthless. She could testify to the unstable part. This hunter had just finished retelling a story about Dean beheading a vampire at a lumber mill. Bela took it for what it was, hunter talk. These guys exaggerated like crazy. Not a one of them was technically sane.

"If I were you, I wouldn't mess with them," the hunter warned her again. "Singer's bad enough, and he's pretty stable. But Winchester's boys…" The man shook his head slowly as he covered her hand with his. "I wouldn't want to cross paths with them."

"Never mind that," Bela said in a soothing voice, "Bobby is still based out of Duluth, isn't he?" She smiled and batted her eyes. The foolish man practically melted in his seat. No problem, Daddy, Bela thought as she ran her tongue over her lower lip, I have my own ways too.

-

* * *

"Where's Sam?" Bobby asked as Dean crashed on the couch.

Dean shrugged as Hillary lumbered in to the room. She made a beeline for him. "He said he had a few errands to run."

"You two sure took off quick. What was all that about?" Bobby stared hard at him. "And why are you soaking wet?"

Dean blew out a long breath. "New job. God, Bobby, I don't know how I'm going to be able to fit in hunting with this thing. I mean, before, being some kind of morale officer took up pretty much every spare minute. But now…" He rubbed a hand over his wet hair. Ew, that felt slimy. Maybe he needed a quick shower.

"But now what?" Bobby took a seat opposite him. "What's changed, Dean?"

He looked down at his hands. Never before had they betrayed him, always perfectly solid and rock-steady. Now they trembled at the thought of failure. "Before, if I screwed up, somebody just couldn't sleep or didn't call their husband on time. Nobody died." He clenched his jaw as he leveled his gaze at Bobby. "Now kids can die."

"What's the job, Dean?" Bobby asked softly. "What'd they promote you to?"

He leaned further back into the couch. "Trying to save kids who are going to die from doing something stupid."

Bobby grimaced. "Sounds more like a punishment than a promotion, if you ask me. But, you know," he took off his hat, rubbed his jaw, scratched his head, "you sound perfect for that."

Dean stared for a moment in disbelief. "Excuse me? I sound perfect for what?"

Bobby smiled at Dean, a warm soft smile. It made him a little uneasy. "Son, I've seen the way you take care of Sam. All his life, you've been there for him. If I had to pick someone to save kids, you'd be my first choice."

"What's for lunch?" Dean asked. "We missed breakfast."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Boy, you are the worst damn deflector I've ever met." He shook his head. "So what happened? Why are you wet?"

Dean sighed in defeat. "Ask Sam when he gets back." Hillary leaned heavily against his leg. His fingers found the sweet spot just under her collar.

"I'm asking you," Bobby insisted. "Tell me."

Dean found himself powerless to deny Bobby's request, his order. He told the story with as much emotional detachment as possible, until he got to the part where he ordered the friends to tell the boy's parents. "And if they don't," he shook his head as he heard the rumble in his voice.

"What?" Bobby asked. "What will happen if they don't?"

Dean snorted. "Let's just say they better not ever need a special favor."

"Really?" Bobby took off his hat to inspect it. Like that looked normal and casual. _Dean_ sucked at deflection? "Why?"

"Because they won't get it," Dean snapped. As the words spilled out he knew they were true, he just wasn't too sure how he knew that. "Bobby? Sometimes I feel like I'm losing it." As much as he hated to admit it, to anyone, it felt good to confide in Bobby. Emboldened by the good feeling, he continued. "Stuff I've never known before keeps dripping into my brain, and I know it's true. It's all true. It's all real. And Bobby," Dean stared right into Bobby's eyes, "it's scaring the hell out of me."

-

* * *

Ruby followed Sam out to the parking lot and a big black car. She liked the color. It seemed suitable for a potential antichrist. She leaned against the side while Sam put his bags in the backseat. The fact that he had paid for his purchases with bogus credit cards eased some of her tension. Maybe he was the one she needed after all.

"So." Sam turned to stare down at her. Man, was he tall. "What were you saying about demons?" That silly grin was gone, thanks to all that was unholy.

"There is a new demon leader rising. When she gets enough support, she plans to come for you," Ruby explained.

Sam actually looked startled. "Why me?"

Ruby stared. Was he serious? "Why you?" she demanded. "You're the freaking chosen one!" He waved his hands at her, telling her to lower her voice. She glanced around. A few people walking to and from the cars glanced their way. "You're at the top of the hit list for every demon with delusions of power, that's why," she hissed, careful to keep her voice down.

"Ah. That." Sam nodded seriously at her. Ruby waited. Surely he had something else to say. "So how do you know any of this? It isn't exactly on the news or internet."

Ruby gritted her teeth. She felt her host scream with shared frustration in their head. Not many demons bothered to find a willing host the way she did. Funny how dying of brain cancer changed people's perspectives. "You'd be surprised what you can find on the internet," she grumbled.

Sam laughed at her. "Yeah, I'll give you that. I know there are some rumors floating around out there about me, too, but I didn't think they'd made it onto the internet yet."

Ruby shook her head. "I've been able to delay that, for now. Can't make any promises, though."

The smile dropped from Sam's face. "You have? Why? How?"

Ruby cocked her head to one side, regarding the man standing before her. It was hard to believe he was personally chosen by Azazel to lead the legion. "I'll answer one more question. You pick it."

Sam's eyes shone with an intensity she hadn't thought was possible before now. "Why? Why are you doing this for me?"

She figured he clarified that question so she couldn't just answer it any way she wanted. Maybe he was as smart as they said. That didn't mean she really wanted to give him an honest answer, but for some reason she found that she had a hard time flat-out lying to Sam Winchester. How weird was that? "I don't want to see the legion win. That's all."

Ruby tried to walk away, but he called her back. "What's in it for you?"

"That's for me to know, and you not to find out," she snapped as she marched away without looking back.


	34. Chapter 34

**It's been a while, ****so to recap:** Dean faced down the archangel Michael and acquired angelic abilities. Using those abilities, he has cured Sam of being infected with demon blood as an infant, leaving Sam in an almost constant state of euphoria. The archangels Gabriel (who doesn't believe Sam has been fully cured) and Raphael (who hunts demons) are somehow involved with Michael in an angels' court case against Sam for being under demonic influence. Bela is after Dean's amulet and Ruby wants Sam to form an anti-legion. Then there's Hillary, Bobby's mastiff, who seems to be able to communicate with Dean and really likes belly-rubs from Sam. Bela and Ruby have made appearances and since this is AU, so are they. (If you didn't like them before, I think you'll enjoy what I have planned for them.)

**Chapter Thirty-four**

Bobby wished he was as much into the hugging thing as John had been. Right now Dean looked like he could use a really good hug, and there was no John here to do it. Bobby sure as, well, you know, wasn't going to.

"Course it scares you," he told the boy instead, "you'd be a damn fool if it didn't." Bobby stood to pace, securing his hat back on his head. "You're learning things no human being was ever meant to know. Hell, just knowing that you're going through it scares me half to death!"

The chuckle from Dean stopped his frantic pacing. "Dude, you're gonna wear a hole in the floor." Dean rubbed his forehead like a headache was coming on. "I didn't mean to worry you, Bobby. Relax, okay?"

Bobby stared at the youngster. His brow was creased like it was a bad headache and Hillary, softie that she was, had her head in his lap like she was trying to help. "What's wrong? Headache?"

Dean shrugged. "It'll pass in a minute. Always does." Both hands rubbed at his temples while Hillary made a grunting noise, nuzzling Dean's leg.

"Always does?" Bobby tried to remember. Didn't Sam warn him about something? "Wait a minute. Did I say something to cause it? Sam told me I needed to watch my language." The lack of answer was all the answer Bobby needed. "So watching my language prevents headaches?"

Dean's face relaxed a little as he nodded. "Unfortunately."

A knock at the door prevented a continuation of this surprisingly enlightening conversation. Bobby peered at the person standing outside his door.

"Anybody we know?" Dean's voice came from behind him.

"Yep." Bobby opened the door. "Raphael. What brings you back so soon?"

The angel stepped into the house. "Dean. Good, I wanted to talk to you. The trial is scheduled to come up soon and you and Sam really should meet with your defender."

Dean shrugged. "Sounds good. Who's the defender? Mike?"

Raphael looked stricken as he shook his head. "I take it you're not aware of court procedures?"

"Court procedures? For angels?" Bobby asked. Seriously, this was more fascinating than ancient anti-possession rituals.

"I take it our defender isn't you either?" Dean asked, standing. Hillary looked a little put out about being moved.

"Maybe you should sit back down," Raphael suggested. "I don't think you'll want to be standing for this."

* * *

Sam figured he should have known something was wrong when he found Bobby standing by the road, waiting for him. The tense look on Bobby's face didn't exactly instill confidence, either. Sam stopped the car so Bobby could ride the rest of the way back to the house.

"Bobby? What's wrong?" Sam asked as he leaned over the seat, motioning for Bobby to get in.

Bobby climbed into the passenger seat, gave Sam a disgruntled look. "My house has been invaded."

Sam waited for further explanation, but Bobby seemed content to seethe in the passenger seat.

"Invaded by what, Bobby?" Sam asked. He pulled up to the house. The only other cars were Bobby's and the rusted hulks that surrounded them. Hillary lay on the porch, glaring at the front door. She didn't even acknowledge the Impala.

Bobby crossed both arms over his chest. "Archangels," he muttered.

Now Sam did look over, in surprise. "And you're not in there pumping them for information?"

Bobby snorted, glared out the window. "As if they'd tell me a damn thing. But drink my holy water beer? Oh, yeah, that doesn't bother them in the least."

"Uh, what about Dean?" Sam wondered how his brother was coping with a houseful of archangels. Come to think of it, Bobby didn't say which ones were there.

Bobby snorted in response. "You'd think he grew up talkin' ta angels, the way he's acting." Bobby rolled his eyes. "I don't think he even believed in 'em as a kid."

"Which archangels, Bobby?" Sam persisted. He really didn't know if Dean had believed in them before meeting Michael.

"Ralph and Gabby," Bobby said with a sneer.

Sam put the car into park. "Gabby?" Realization dawned slowly. "You mean Gabriel?"

Without waiting for an answer, Sam bolted from the car for the house. Dean and Gabriel, in a confined space, together. No matter how he looked at it, it was a BAD thing. Sam threw the door open to the sounds of laughter, Hillary on his heels.

"Hey, Sam!" Dean's voice called out from the den. Sam followed it to find Dean leaning over the back of Bobby's couch, between Raphael and Gabriel, and they all held beers dripping with condensation. Dean's eyes had that soft green glow that meant there was holy water in the beer, Gabriel's glowed gray while Raphael's eyes had a golden brown hue.

"What took you so long?" Dean asked, straightening up. "You didn't have any trouble with the car, did you?"

Sam shook his head. "It's running fine. That's something I want to talk to you about later, though."

Dean gave him a quick nod of recognition. Since it concerned the car, Sam felt confident that his brother would bring it up later. "So what kept you?" His eyes dropped to the dog. "Didn't I ask you to wait outside?"

Hillary whined, dropping her head. Sam rubbed the dog's head as he shrugged, glaring at Gabriel. "Just ran into somebody at the store who wanted to talk. Why is she here?"

"Uh, Sam?" Next thing he knew, Dean's hand was on his elbow, steering him out of the den. Bobby tromped through the front door with Sam's grocery bags. "You might want to ease up on the anti-Gabriel stuff for a while."

"Why?" Bobby asked, shoving some of the bags towards Dean. Sam snatched them first, not wanting his brother to carry anything with that bad back.

"Yeah, why, Dean?" Sam echoed.

Dean let out a long sigh. "Because…she's your defense attorney."

"She's what?" Bobby shouted. After a number of dirty looks and hand gestures, Dean convinced them to go into the kitchen. He gave the dog a strong look and she sat just outside the kitchen door.

Sam dropped his bags on Bobby's kitchen table.

"What the _hell_ you talkin' about, boy?" Bobby demanded. Dean flinched, rubbed his forehead with one hand. Since Bobby didn't look the slightest bit contrite about causing Dean a headache, Sam decided it had to have been on purpose, to make a point.

"I was hoping it would be Michael," Sam said.

Dean jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter while Sam put his groceries away. "That's the way they used to do it. Actually, they used to have a regular DA who handled all the prosecutions."

"Used to?" Sam asked. "What happened?"

"Civil war," Dean replied. "Gee, Sam, I thought you were the one who had all that kind of crap memorized."

"Wait," Bobby said, arms crossed over his chest. "Are you talking about Satan? God's DA?"

Sam paused in putting away the instant oatmeal. "So now what? They take turns being DA?"

"Kind of." Dean shrugged. "Now they have to defend the opposite viewpoint of what they believe. See, Michael doesn't think Sam here is a threat, so he's the DA. Gabby wants Sam put away, so she's the defense attorney."

"I don't think I like that," Sam said slowly.

"Makes sense, though," Bobby said thoughtfully. "If they're forced to see the other side's viewpoint, maybe there won't be another split."

Dean nodded. "That's the idea." He snatched a bag with grapes, popped a few in his mouth. "Man, these are good. What are they?"

"Uh, grapes?" Sam said in the best 'duh' voice he could. "You know, what raisins are before they're all dried out?"

"No kidding?" Dean stared at the bag in his hand. He shrugged. "Well, I like 'em better like this."

A couple of grapes found their way into the air, one landed perfectly in Dean's mouth while the other bounced off his cheek, headed for the floor. Sam caught it in the air, put it in his own mouth, returned to putting away his groceries. He knew Dean was capable of forcing the grape to land in his own mouth, he had to be if he could make remote controls hover in the air, so this must be more sporting.

"Isn't there some way of getting a different defense attorney?" Sam asked, sliding the last box of instant oatmeal into Bobby's cabinet.

"Nope. It's got to be the one who is the most against it." Dean glanced around, as though there might be more to put away. "Guess you don't need any help, huh? Better come into the den, Sam. Gabby needs to talk to you."

Dean hopped off the counter, headed for the kitchen door. He paused before walking through the door. "Hang on." He turned around, his eyes glowing. "Do I look like I've been hitting the holy water?" he asked.

Sam and Bobby exchanged a confused look. "Uh, yes?"

"Good." Dean made a move with his head that Sam knew meant 'get your ass in there.' He followed big brother into the other room, dreading this.

"When did you switch from Gabe to Gabby?" Sam whispered.

"When she became your attorney," Dean hissed, bright grin covering his face. "Be nice."

Sam found himself wishing for some of that euphoria now, it might help him deal with 'Gabby.' Dean was right, she was a total bitch, and he suspected that she hadn't put everything back right in his head. Since Gabriel had been in his head, Sam had been experiencing some disturbing dreams.

Sam stood in front of the archangels, resenting this. Why should he have to defend himself? What business did angels have meddling in their lives anyway? Sam cleared his throat before speaking, attempting to sound civil. "Dean said I need to talk to you."

Gabriel's smile dropped away as she looked at him. "Yes, Sam. We need to talk."

The weight of Hillary against his leg shouldn't have been as comforting as it was.

* * *

Ruby brooded over the meatsuits of two demons on her list. Yes, she kept a list. It was in her head, she wasn't stupid enough to write down which demons she planned to kill. The two on top just bit the dust, but that wasn't the cause for her brooding. She was brooding over Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester. Handpicked by Azazel, Satan's right hand, to lead the demon legion in taking over Earth, humanity. Sam Winchester, their anti-christ, was a wimp. A total and complete wimp. His brother Dean would have been a much better choice. At least Dean was tough, sure, deadly. Why was there so much talk about Sam? The guy spent fifteen minutes picking out instant oatmeal, for the love of...

Ruby rubbed a hand across her aching temples. Being in the body of a woman with brain cancer wasn't all she'd thought it would be. The headaches were a bitch. Sure, her host was willing, but that didn't mean it was worth it. Although with a willing host Ruby could do more than the other demons, so maybe it _was_ worth it. She mumbled an incantation to help with the pain. It eased, enough to allow her to open her eyes. She needed to leave, being found with the dead bodies of a priest and his mistress wouldn't be good. The local yokels would probably peg her as some kind of serial killer. Ruby didn't need any attention, not from humans or demons, not with her plans.

The headache too bad to withstand her preferred means of travel, Ruby walked. She made it to the road outside of town before a car picked her up. Ruby needed to get back to Sam Winchester. He had the name recognition she needed, even if he was a wimp.

* * *

Bela checked into one of the nicer hotels in Singer's hometown, and she would hate to see what one of the bad ones looked like. Next she would scout out Bobby Singer's place, see if he had any contact with Dean Winchester. Poor boy had no idea what that trinket around his neck was worth, or he would undoubtedly have sold it long ago.

She would have to be cautious, because Bobby Singer was not a man to be trifled with. Bela had run across his path a few times in the past and made certain not to cross him. She had, however, managed to procure a ringside seat to Bobby Singer being trifled with by someone else. Well, admittedly, it had been a little more than a trifle. Bobby had not retaliated with violence, the way she imagined Dean Winchester would have in the same situation. Instead he sat back, made a few phone calls. Within weeks, that particular individual could not find anyone willing to sell him supplies or back him up on hunts. In their business, Bobby Singer effectively sentenced the man to death. Very clever. He didn't even have to risk his own neck or anyone else's.

Singer owned a salvage yard. Interesting. He actually had a visible means of support. So many of these hunters lived on the fringe of society, procuring what they needed when they needed it, however they could. Singer was something of an anomaly, which was disturbing. Bela could handle regular hunters, it was the anomalies she had to watch out for. There was no telling what they would do.

Bela kept her inquiries quiet. This was Singer's town, he must have friends here. She found his salvage yard easily enough. Now all Bela had to do was stake it out, see who came and went. The Winchesters would have to contact Singer at some point, if they really were confederates. Those crazy boys didn't seem to trust anyone. If they actually trusted Singer, they would contact him eventually. Perhaps she could wire his phone.

She drove on, intending to find a half-way decent place to eat. There had to be some low-grease food someplace in this town. Then she would get down to work.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

Dean liked the dog, he could admit that. They moved around constantly when he was a kid, but any time they were at Bobby's there was always at least one dog. Most of the time when he was a kid he pretended not to like the current four legged resident, while always trying to sneak the beast some of his dinner. Dean suspected that Dad always knew, and Bobby certainly did. Hillary was different. Not only did he like her, he knew she liked him. That was more than he had ever had, with confidence, from anyone on two or four legs. Dean trusted the flea-bitten mutt to do what he wanted more than Sam. Sam had a mind of his own, and used it constantly.

Hillary lay by his feet, her head propped up on his boot, while Sam had to endure Gabby's inquisition. If she weren't Sam's attorney... Then again, if she weren't such a bitch she wouldn't be so anti-Sam and wouldn't be Sam's attorney. He really couldn't stand her. As that thought crossed his mind, Hillary grunted and nudged his leg. Dean scratched her neck, silently apologizing for upsetting her.

"What is with that dog?" Gabby asked in her bitchy voice.

Now Dean realized everyone was staring at him. Everyone except Sam, that is. Sam was looking at him, but not staring.

"She likes Dean," Sam said, turning to glare at Gabby. "What's wrong with that? Most females do, you know. He's like Fonzie."

Gabby's storm gray eyes widened. "He's like what?"

"You've bonded with the dog?" Ralph asked, moving closer. Hillary stared at Ralph for a moment, then put her head back down on his foot. "Really?" He moved to scratch her neck and she growled. She didn't bother to lift her head or show her teeth, just made her displeasure known.

Ralph pulled his hand back, looking up at Dean. "You don't like me?"

Dean shrugged. "Anybody who goes after demons is okay in my book." Hillary growled at Ralph again. "I guess she doesn't agree."

Ralph exchanged a look with Gabby. She stood up and so did Hillary, this time with bared teeth. Gabby sat back down.

"Sam," Gabby motioned to Hillary, "go pet the dog."

Sam turned to the dog, patted his leg. Hillary leapt to her paws, lumbered over quickly to Sam, leaned into his touch. Sam grinned as he scratched her head. Seemingly caught up in the moment, he dropped to his knees to use both hands on the dog. Hillary turned to look at Dean.

"What are you asking me for? It didn't bother you earlier," Dean said to the questioning look. Her head cocked to one side and a whine came out. "Yeah, okay. It's safe. Go ahead."

Dean rolled his eyes as Hillary's massive body hit the floor, four legs sprawled up in the air as Sam provided a two handed belly rub. Bobby chuckled from behind him. "Damn dog loves all this attention."

Gabby and Ralph were both staring at him now. "What?" Dean demanded. "She loves pizza. That's all I did, I swear. I had Sam give her some pizza."

"This would make for an excellent defense," Ralph said, turning to Gabby. "Don't you think?"

Gabby sighed. "Not as a basis, but certainly as corroborating evidence." She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. Dean wanted to kick himself for finding the action sexy, because she was such a bitch. That would be like...hooking up with Bela. Oh, just the thought made his skin crawl. Problem solved.

"Sam, tell me, have you ever wanted to kill someone but been unable to go through with it?" Gabby asked.

Dean sighed as he settled back into his chair. The inquisition continued.

* * *

Ruby rode in the old sedan, wishing aspirin would work. Then again, a solid left hook would definitely help, it would shut up the idiot driving. He was some kind of conspiracy nut. The US government blew up the twin towers, professional sports were staged and scripted, there were chemicals in jet contrails to control the population, and his mother-in-law had his phone tapped.

She rested her head against the window, closed her eyes to the noise. Sam Winchester had better be worth all this. What could she do with a wimpy anti-christ? He had the name recognition, that was certain. With it, Ruby might be able to gather a group to force the others back to Hell. First she had to get him to agree to her using his name. Others had tried to fake it, claimed to represent Sam Winchester, but never successfully. There was something about Sam that wouldn't allow it. It had added to his mystique, to the rumors already circling. It was making Sam out to be more than he was. Of course, that wouldn't take much, admittedly. Why oh why had he been he chosen?

"And the whole electoral process," her driver droned on, "it's all part of the conspiracy to keep us under control, to keep the ruling elite in power."

Ruby slowly banged her temple against the window. If she hit her head hard enough, could she lose consciousness?

* * *

Bela batted her eyes at the bartender. "Actually," she said slowly, "I'm looking for a pair of brothers, Sam and Dean? I understand they're friends of Bobby Singer."

"Friends?" the bartender snorted. He looked like he had worked here since the place opened, in the sixties. Long stringy gray hair was pulled back into a rough ponytail in the back and he wore one of those stupid bright colored shirts that belonged signaling ships at sea. In a storm. "More like his nephews," the man said.

Bela couldn't help her startled reaction. "Nephews? Sam and Dean Winchester?"

He nodded, wiping down his bar. "I served Dean his first legal beer, right where you're sitting."

She giggled, trying to pull off the air-head act. "First legal? I feel there's a story there."

He smiled at her. "Yep. Plenty. I've known those boys most of their lives. But I never met you before today, lady." He leaned across the bar into her face. "And people asking questions, no matter how good lookin', aren't exactly welcome around here."

Bela noticed that most of the bar patrons were glaring at her. She tried smiling wider and another stupid giggle. Dean had quite a reputation for being a ladies' man. "But Dean told me, if I was ever in the area..." She batted her eyes again.

The crusty old bartender actually snorted in her face. Right in her face! "No. He didn't. Get out."

She sighed as she stood up. Bela ran her hands over her hips, smoothing out fabric that wasn't loose enough to wrinkle. With an extra sway in her step, she left the bar. Okay, so information gathering was a long shot, she knew that. It would have to be good, old fashioned leg work, just like Daddy said. Sometimes the old ways were the best ways.

Bela drove her rental car over to Bobby Singer's neighborhood. She parked up the street before making her way to Singer's salvage yard. Unfortunately she was wearing the wrong shoes to do any real skulking, but she definitely had the right place. Out of pure curiosity, Bela crept up the drive that wound through stacks of decrepit piles of what used to be cars. When the house came into view, she gasped. Dean's precious Impala was parked outside Singer's house! She stared for a moment, unable to fully believe her amazing luck.

Reluctantly, Bela headed back. With this much good luck, breaking into Bobby Singer's home to steal the amulet without more planning would undoubtedly be pushing it. Now that she knew where Dean was, it being extremely unlikely that he would allow even his brother to take his car without him, Bela could keep an eye on the place while she planned. Also, she needed to call her buyer, make arrangements for the sale. Bela had no intention of that amulet being in her possession any longer than necessary. Dean Winchester was crazy.

Just before she reached the street, she heard loud barking coming from the house. Bela slipped off her high heeled shoes, clutched them tightly in her hands as she ran to her rental. The barking gained on her, but she had a pretty good lead. Her hose shredded on the asphalt as she ran. Bela fell into the driver's seat, slamming the door closed. She threw the shoes in the floorboard and started the car. Pulling out with a squeal of tires, she fully intended to run straight over the huge beast chasing her down the street, but the monster of a dog made a miraculous leap over a deep ditch. Bela ignored the dog, if it was indeed a dog and not a small furry charging elephant, to speed off down the street. Several figures stood in the entrance to Singer's Salvage as she raced by. She would have to get rid of the rental.

* * *

"Hillary!" Dean shouted, glaring at the dog in a way that sent chills up Bobby's spine. "What were thinking? You can't take on a car, you stupid mutt!"

She whined, head low, slowly approaching Dean. He blew out a sigh, dropped to his knees and patted his chest. "Get over here, stupid."

Hillary sprang into action, leaping at Dean. Front paws landed on Dean's shoulders and she energetically licked at his face. Dean turned away, chuckling. He rubbed her fur. Next thing Bobby knew, man and dog were rolling on the ground in an affectionate wrestling match.

Sam nudged him in the ribs. "I didn't even know Dean liked dogs," he said.

"I did," Bobby replied, grinning at the pair on the ground. "But not that much."

Dean shoved the dog away, lying on his back. "Little help?"

Sam was there in an instant, pulling his brother up to his feet. Hillary bounded to Dean's side, her head bumping his thigh.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said with a chuckle as he brushed himself off, "you were right about someone being out here. Happy?"

Hillary made a weird noise, deep in her throat. Dean rolled his eyes. "Hear that?" he demanded.

Bobby exchanged a confused glance with Sam. "Hear what?"

"Hillary." Dean beat more dirt off of himself. "Bobby, do you usually give her a treat for chasing people off after hours?"

Bobby nodded. "Usually a nice chunk of steak."

"Steak?" Dean stared unbelieving down at her. "You get steak? God, you're spoiled."

Another strange noise from the dog. Dean huffed, rolling his eyes again. "You owe the mutt some steak, Bobby. And trust me, she isn't going to shut up about it."

Sam chuckled, beaming at Dean as he wrapped an arm over his brother's shoulders. Hillary pranced right next to them, eyes pinned to Dean. Bobby thought maybe he should be on the lookout for a new dog, because one thing was for damned sure: Hillary wasn't his any more. At least the damn dog had good taste.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Bobby as Dean and Hillary went into the house. He paused just outside the door, waiting for Bobby to catch up.

"Bobby?" Sam whispered. "Does this type of thing happen often?" He gestured toward the entrance to the salvage yard.

Bobby shrugged, unconcerned. "It happens, Sam. It's not like it was the first time. There's a reason I keep big dogs around, you know."

"Yeah, it's just..." Sam stared out into the darkness. "I thought you had the dogs to warn you of demons."

"That too." Bobby shook his shoulder gently, alarmed by how distant Sam looked. "Sam? You all right? You look a million miles away."

Sam turned worried eyes on him. "Bobby, is there such a thing as a helpful demon?"

Bobby laughed, amazed Sam would ask such a question. The last time Sam asked something that stupid the boy was what – nine? "All demons have an agenda, Sam. Why? Something happen?" He glanced back toward the road too.

Sam shook his head, pushing through the half-open door after his brother. Somehow Bobby had the feeling that he had let the youngest Winchester down, but he had no idea how.

* * *

Michael frowned as he watched the human woman drive away from Singer's place. It violated several rules of the court, but Michael found that he was drawn to the Winchesters. He felt a compulsion to check up on them, make sure they were all right.

That woman was disturbing. Michael knew who she was but not why she was there. Bela caused trouble and left anger and resentment in her wake. People like her were the reason churches, mosques and synagogues had empty seats. She had no conscience, no remorse, not a single care for the people she hurt to get what she wanted. There were a number of things Michael would like to do with a human like that, and in the old days it had been allowed.

He followed her back to the outskirts of town. She parked the car at a bar, walked two blocks away and made a call on her cell phone. Bela continued walking until a cab pulled up ten minutes and a mile later. The cab drove her to the center of town and a nice hotel. If she were at least possessed, he would have cause to question her.

Michael returned to the agreed upon meeting place where Gabriel and Raphael waited for him. They did not speak, holding hands in a circle. Michael raised his face up and brilliant light struck him from above, despite the lateness of the night.

When the brilliant light dissipated, Michael was able to look around him. The room they stood in was massive, representing the highest court of every land, every religion, every people. A row of empty seats ringed one side of the room, where the council would sit in judgment of Sam Winchester.

Raphael stood in the exact center of the room. "We are here for the preliminaries," he announced, ghosts of thunder and storm winds in his voice.

The empty seats shimmered with radiance as angelic hosts filled them. Though Michael had seen this sight many times over the course of his lifetime, it never ceased to fill him with amazement. He bowed his head in respect to the council.

"The prosecution may speak." A disembodied voice made the intentions of the council known.

Michael lifted his head to address the council. "Sam Winchester was infected as an infant with the demonic blood of Azazel. When his abilities began to surface, they included empathy, which was particularly strong with his brother, Dean Winchester - the same Dean who later became the firsthuman to face down an archangel and win."

Their mouths did not move, but an excited murmur went through the council.

"The defense may speak," the same voice announced.

Gabriel cleared her throat before speaking. "A full trial would be a waste of the council's time. Sam Winchester is no longer infected by Azazel, and even when he was, fought against the infection to the point that he nearly rendered it impotent."

"The destruction of the infection is not in evidence," Michael stated.

"Neither is the infection," Gabriel argued. Michael silently thanked her for that.

"Silence while the council deliberates."

Michael shifted uneasily, catching Raphael's eye. He hated trials, always had. Michael preferred action. Give him a sword and a target, he was most comfortable then. The verbal sparring wore on him, depressed him beyond endurance. He tried to stay neutral in most conflicts just to avoid appearing in court like this. Once again, the Winchesters had drawn him in.

Then Michael felt a ripple in the air, a pressure against his spine in the lower back. Dean. He concentrated on the feeling in his spine, waited for the bright green beam to show him what Dean was doing. Nothing happened. Confused, Michael concentrated harder. Still nothing.

"Michael," the voice of the council reverberated through the room, "within the court, you may have no connection with anyone. You know this."

Michael bowed his head again. "My apologies to the council."

The spot on his spine increased, sent a shooting pain along his back. Michael gasped, staggering to the side. "Go," he hissed as he grabbed Raphael's shoulder. "We have to go."

Another murmur shot through the council as the hosts and the room faded from sight. When his feet touched soil, the pain in his back multiplied, sending Michael crashing to his knees. "Dean," he mumbled to Raphael's shocked expression. "In trouble. Hurry."

"Where?" Raphael asked, his hands tight on Michael's shoulders.

Michael did not have to wait. The beam of green light shot from him, connecting him with Dean. He couldn't see what was happening, something blocked that, but Dean had to be in a lot of trouble with all this pain. "Go to Singer, he'll know," he gasped.

"We'll go," Raphael stated in the voice Michael knew better than to argue with. The world around them faded away, replaced by Singer's Salvage. Michael struggled to pull in air through the pain. Why was he the only one who felt this? Why not the others? When the thing with Dean's arm happened, it touched them all. Raphael should not be looking at him like this, he should be writhing in the dirt alongside Michael.

Raphael half-carried him to the door, easily kicking it open. Singer's wards did not apply to angels. He squeezed his eyes against a fresh wave of pain as Raphael dragged him across the threshold.

"Hey!" Raphael's voice boomed with the strength of a thunderstorm. "Anybody here!"

"Mike!" Despite the pain, Michael felt a rush of relief at the sound of Dean's voice. "Dude, what happened?"

Michael struggled to open his eyes. Dean's face, full of worry and concern, stared down at him. Michael grabbed Dean's face with one hand, pulled him in a little closer. "What happened?" he asked, hearing how weak his voice sounded. "What came after you?"

Dean glanced away before looking straight at him. "Mike? What are you talking about? Nothing came after us." Dean pulled Mike's hand away, held it in his own. "But what happened to you? You look like shit."

Relieved that Dean said he was fine, Michael closed his eyes and went to a place where there was no pain. As the warm, protective darkness closed around him, he wondered if humans dreamed when they slept the way angels did.


	36. Chapter 36

Hey oddballs! See? I haven't forgotten you. New chapter. Several more in the hopper. Once my theological adviser is back from her conference, more chapters will be coming your way! Also, Life With Dean will kick back up soon, too. (Not sure where to stop that one, though. Working on it.)

**Chapter 36**

"What happened?" Dean's voice blared through the house. Bobby raced downstairs as fast as he dared, spurred on by the angry tone. Dean didn't sound like that for no reason. Bobby had known that boy most of his life and Dean was tough to rattle or anger unless you hit one of his soft spots, like Sam.

When Bobby's feet hit the ground floor, he could see Dean and another man standing over his sofa. Hillary stood off to the side, her back to them, like she was standing guard. Bobby approached slowly, unsure how Hillary might react. He half-expected to receive a thigh full of teeth for his trouble, but instead Hillary shoved her head into his leg, urging him to hurry.

Now he could see who their visitors were, Raphael and Michael. Michael appeared unconscious while Raphael looked totally shaken, babbling nearly incoherently.

"He wanted to find you, kept saying you were in trouble," Raphael's hands flailed through the air. "It looked like he was in pain. I don't understand it. How could he be in pain? We should all be affected, even you!" He leaned over the couch, staring down at Michael. "Something is making him sleep. What could do that?"

The noise from skin on skin, a direct slap across the face, rang through the house like a gunshot. Raphael stared unblinking at Dean, as though he couldn't believe what just happened. Bobby certainly couldn't. Dean just slapped an archangel.

"Get it together, Ralph!" Dean snapped. "Freaking out won't help anyone, especially Mike." Dean gripped Raphael by the shoulders, speaking in a low, calm voice. "Now tell me what happened. Slowly."

"Water?" Bobby offered. They both turned to glare at him. "The regular kind," he replied defensively to their glares.

Dean gave him a quick nod. "Yeah. Thanks, Bobby."

Sam burst through the kitchen door while Bobby grabbed a couple of bottles of water. "Bobby, was that Dean?"

"Yep. Come on, let's see if we can help." It surprised Bobby that Sam wasn't asking a million and one questions as they left the kitchen. Sam still didn't speak while Raphael recounted how he and Michael came to be here and that Michael was convinced there was something wrong with Dean.

"Could you tell where it hurt?" Dean asked, looking over Michael as if they had just finished a hunt.

"Maybe his back," Raphael said, his voice steadier than earlier, "I'm not sure."

"His back?" Sam asked, stepping forward. "Lower back?"

"Does it matter?" Raphael asked, one hand reaching down to bury his fingers in Michael's hair.

"It matters," Sam insisted, eyes flashing with that intelligent spark Bobby had always admired.

"He grabbed his back, like this." Raphael mimed a severe pain in his lower back.

"Yep, that's it," Sam stated, turning to Dean. "I'll bet it's not even as bad as it was for you. He just isn't used to pain."

Dean's face darkened. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. Dean cracked his knuckles, peering intently at Raphael. "Okay, if I do this, is anything going to blow up?"

"Do what?" Raphael asked, voice teetering on hysteria again.

Dean frowned at the archangel. "Take back the pain. Duh, dude."

Bobby opened his mouth to stop him, or at least make Dean think about this, but Dean's hand was glowing and on Michael's chest. Crap. As Dean's face twisted with pain, his hand glowed brighter. Bobby was mesmerized by that glow. It contained everything amazing and wonderful in the world. A thousand images blasted through his mind, steep mountains, brilliant sunsets, and the smiles of Dean and Sam as children.

"Dean!"

Bobby blinked and the images faded, leaving only the faint imprint of that glow around the edges of his vision. Sam wrestled Dean backwards, away from Michael. Even Hillary was in on the action, planting her body firmly between Dean and the couch. It was her bark that got Dean's attention.

"What!" he snapped at the dog over Sam's shoulder. She barked again. Dean pulled back to glare at Sam. "She's starting to sound like you."

Sam stared at his brother for a moment. "How?" he demanded.

"She told me to back off and let him have a little of the pain." When Sam continued to stare, Dean added, "Not in those words, but that was the sentiment."

"She's right," Sam said with a snarl. He glanced over his shoulder at Michael. "Think you took enough of it?"

Dean shook off Sam's grip, stretched with both arms above his head. "Hope so. I don't remember it ever feeling any worse than this."

"You don't remember what feeling much worse?" Raphael asked. He looked and sounded much calmer now, even though Michael was still out cold.

"His back," Sam said and there was an edge to his voice. "In the fight with the yellow-eyed demon Dean busted a couple of vertebrae. He was lucky not to be paralyzed, but his back always hurts now."

Raphael moved to on an arm of the couch, one hand twisted in his hair. "Now what?"

Sam shrugged, shoving Dean towards the other chair. "Now we wait."

Bobby let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding as his gaze drifted back to Michael. Funny how he was rooting for the prosecution.

-

* * *

Bela refocused her binoculars on Singer's house. Two men just went inside, and they didn't exactly arrive in a normal fashion. Even with that spectacular entrance, one had needed to carry the other. What was going on there? And would it be enough of a distraction to get Dean's amulet?

She opted to wait for a day or two and watch the house. Perhaps there would be more opportunities for profit here. Bela chewed her lower lip, her curiosity overwhelming her sense of self-preservation. She shifted against the telephone pole she was currently strapped to. Her decision made, Bela climbed down slowly, stopping every few feet to check on Singer's house again. Nothing changed.

When her feet hit the ground, Bela pulled off the bright orange jumpsuit. Tossing it into her new rental car, rented under a different name, Bela swapped the boots with the spikes for climbing the pole with her black sneakers. She pulled her hair back, out of the way.

Putting her considerable skills, learned mostly from Daddy, to work, Bela slipped through the salvage yard to the house. She kept one ear out for that dog, but Bela was pretty sure the beast was still inside the house. She checked the pepper spray in her pocket, just in case.

Bela crouched under one of Singer's windows. It was closed, but that didn't mean she couldn't hear what was happening inside. She removed an object from her pocket, uncoiled the thin wire from it and stuck one end in her ear. The other end looked like a suction cup, which she stuck on one lower corner of the window. With a smile, Bela realized she could hear everything from inside the room now. She tapped a button on the side of the small box attached to the wire.

"Well, you got to admit, even for angels this is weird," a gruff voice that must be Bobby Singer said.

"Even for angels?" another voice demanded. "How about, especially for angels? This has never happened before, you know that!"

"Easy, Ralph," Dean's voice said calmly. "He didn't mean anything by it."

"Sorry," the new voice said. "I just... What is that dog doing now?"

Now a low chuckle. "I think she's standing guard." That was Sam, it had to be. "Dean?"

A matching chuckle. "Probably. Hope she doesn't squish him. Hillary, get down. You can stand guard from the floor."

Bela's curiosity got the better of her. She peered over the windowsill into the room. A huge dog jumped down from the sofa. Now that the dog was out of the way, she could see a man unconscious and spread out over the sofa, his legs hanging off one end. He wasn't bad looking, but if he was mixed up with the Winchesters, he was bad news.

-

* * *

He floated in the darkness, enjoying the solitude and the escape from his troubles. As he floated Michael reached below him, wondering if he was on a fluffy white cloud. The image made him laugh. Perhaps he should take up the harp.

Michael rolled over, stretching out in his one place of bliss. He blinked hard as his blanket of nothingness faded, replaced by a wide cemetery in a haze of off-white light. Dean stood in front of him talking to Sam. Michael approached slowly, unsure if they knew he was here.

"There you are," Dean snapped when he walked up. "You cover that side," he motioned with an old gun.

"And what are you going to do, Dean?" Sam demanded in a hiss.

"Go right up to him," Dean replied, glaring at Sam.

Sam shoved Dean in the chest. "No, Dean. You can't do that! He'll kill you."

Dean held up the old gun. Michael wondered if that was the missing Colt Dean mentioned from time to time. "We have this. I'm planning on it going the other way."

As Sam sputtered out a response, Dean shoved the gun in Sam's hand before he strode away with purpose.

"Come on," Sam growled at Michael. "Before he gets himself killed."

Michael felt himself propelled away, one of Sam's unbelievably strong hands on his arm. Since Dean cured him, should Sam be this strong? They wound up behind a crypt, peering around the side while Dean stood right in the middle of the cemetery shouting insults.

"I hate Dean being bait," Sam muttered. He glanced over at Michael. "That's Dad's fault, you know. He was always using Dean as bait." He sighed. "He said Dean was really good at it. You can't panic when you're the bait, can't cause things to move too fast for your backup." Sam's head shook back and forth. "Dean is good at it. That's Dad's fault."

"Is anything not your dad's fault?" Michael whispered, annoyed with Sam's whining.

Sam shrugged, appearing completely undisturbed by the question. "Just the stuff that's my fault."

O-kay. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Michael concentrated on Dean instead of continuing that conversation. A man approached Dean, smiling with yellow eyes. Azazel? Wasn't Azazel supposed to be dead? He had sensed the passing of the fallen, it had drawn his attention to Sam. Dean had already been on his radar.

"Damn it," Sam growled, rushing forward, gun at the ready.

Distracted, Michael hurried to catch up. Dean sailed through the air until he plummeted, back first, with a sharp crack into a marble crypt. Michael heard the sharp exhale of air from Dean as his body slid down the wall, the soft thump of Dean's body hitting the ground. He slumped over, face blank and eyes wide open. He looked dead and still Michael couldn't feel it, couldn't sense what had just happened to Dean.

Sam tried to shoot the demon while its attention was on Dean, with disastrous results. Sam wasn't flung quite as far as Dean, but one of his knees struck a tombstone as he soared toward the ground and Sam howled in pain. The old gun landed far from where Sam sprawled on the ground. Michael didn't know who to run to, who to help, or if he should. Perhaps he should take on Azazel himself. It would be breaking a big rule, but it might be worth it.

"Sam!" Dean's sharp voice sounded behind him. Michael spun, shocked that he was alive. Dean lay on the ground holding the old gun, his face ablaze with a fury Michael had rarely seen in his long lifetime. He pulled the trigger. Michael turned swiftly to follow the path of the bullet. It pierced the head of Azazel's host, destroying the fallen one for good.

"Sam!" Dean called again, attempting to drag himself closer to his brother.

"Stay there, Dean!" Sam shouted back. "You shouldn't move."

Then Michael saw something he had never witnessed before. Although Dean was in extreme pain, he had to be, his face blanked of all emotion except determination. Arm over arm, he commando-crawled to his younger brother over Sam's protests. Sam dragged his wounded leg limply behind him as he scooted to Dean, since it was clear that Dean staying put was not a possibility. Michael wanted to help, he even tried healing Dean, but it was like he was a mere human.

"Check on Sam, Bobby," Dean insisted as he crawled along. "That knee looks bad."

Michael stopped in his tracks, one hand on Dean's shoulder. Bobby? They thought he was Bobby? How could they possibly...

The realization washed over him like a spring shower. This wasn't his dream, it came from one of the Winchesters, or maybe even Singer. What was it doing here, though? Was this the reason for the pain he experienced? Had this happened during his brief time in court?

Michael struggled to pull himself from the dreamworld, knowing he was needed in the here and now. Azazel was back, somehow, and the three humans had taken him on. They needed him, he could still help, maybe even heal their injuries. It would be allowed for Dean at least, possibly even for Sam.

"Michael? You need to wake up now. It's all right. I don't think the pain will come back."

Michael struggled to place the voice. He knew it, he was certain he did. It was familiar and warm. Safe. Raphael.

"Michael, you need to wake up. Right now. Dean is determined to try healing you again if you don't."

Dean. The off-color light, not bright or pure enough to be a full angel, it had to be from Dean. Dean tried to heal him of the pain. Emboldened by such a selfless action, Michael rose from the depths of his personal solitude. He did not need it now.

"No, Dean!" Sam said angrily. "You can wait a little longer."

A dog barked. Probably that big mutt of Singer's Raphael had told him about.

"You said it yourself, Sam, he can't take it. I can. Now get out of the way!" Dean sounded distressed, because of him.

"Wait," Raphael spoke. "I think he's coming around."

It was hard work cracking his eyelids open, harder than he remembered it being before. Wonderful sunlight poured in, streaming though a filthy window. Michael took a deep breath before attempting to look around. Dean hovered close by with Sam at his shoulder, always right there like he belonged at his brother's side. Michael was someplace he had not been before, but he did recognize Bobby Singer standing on Dean's other side. He shifted experimentally, in a wonder that the pain was actually gone.

"What happened?" he asked, searching their faces. Not one of them looked like they had just been in a battle with a demon, though he had clearly seen it in his dream. "Raphael, did you heal them?"

"Did I heal who?" Raphael asked. Michael felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder and hang on tight. He could tell without looking it was Raphael. There were advantages to immortality. Not many, but a few. One was being able to know another immortal so well that he could identify the other by touch.

"Dean and Sam," Michael said, motioning to the brothers who wore identical confused expressions. "After the battle."

"Michael?" Again it was Raphael's smooth voice, and his confusion washed over Michael. "There was no battle."

Now it was Michael who was confused. He pushed to a sit, allowing Raphael's hand to help. "But I saw it," he insisted. "In my dream, I saw it. Dean was thrown into a wall. Hard. That had to be what caused the pain in my back. Sam was knocked out of the action. Then Dean shot the fallen, Azazel. They couldn't look like this immediately after that happened."

"We didn't," Sam said. "Michael, that happened nearly two years ago."

Michael just shook his head, Sam must have misunderstood. "No, that had to be the pain I felt," he argued. "It fit perfectly with how Dean hit that crypt."

One of Dean's eyebrows arched. "Maybe you shouldn't help out next time I land on my back," he said slowly. "And how did you know I hit a crypt? We never told you that."

Michael clenched his jaw, restraining his desire to lash out at these unreasonable people. "Because I just saw it," he managed to say without shouting, with effort. Sam took a step forward, a limping step forward.

"Your knee!" He pointed at Sam. "You hit that on a headstone. See?" he demanded of Dean. "It just happened, Sam's still limping."

"Dude, Sam's been limping since he met you," Dean said slowly. He turned to look at Sam. "You did hit it on a headstone, didn't you? I mean, I always assumed that, but I didn't see it."

Sam nodded slowly, staring at Michael. "What I don't get is why Mike is dreaming about when we killed the demon. Did you dream about what happened before that?"

Michael thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm not sure. It started with Dean setting himself up as bait, then I saw him thrown into that crypt."

Sam turned to Dean. "Sounds like he got to skip over the first part."

Dean grunted. "Lucky him." One of Dean's hands moved up to grip his right shoulder.

"There was more?" Michael demanded. He might have stood up, but Raphael's hand kept him sitting on Bobby's sofa.

"You'd better believe it," Bobby said, sinking into the chair opposite. "That whole deal lasted about an hour, felt like ten years." The older man sighed heavily. "Never felt so damned helpless in all my life."

Dean chuckled, moved over to rest a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "If it hadn't been for Bobby here, Sam and I would have become permanent residents of that graveyard."

Bobby shot the younger man a glare, but Michael sensed no malice in it. "Pull somethin' that stupid again, and I'll leave ya there."

"You just keep saying that, Uncle Bobby," Sam said with the grin that held an almost permanent position on his face these days. "We know better."

Bobby leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. He 'harrumphed' loudly, causing grins to spread on the faces of the brothers. Dean and Sam shared a look that Michael had no hope of understanding, but he watched as perfect understanding passed between them. Sam's grin broadened and Dean chuckled, the hand on Bobby's shoulder squeezing gently.

Bobby cocked his head toward the brothers as he looked at Michael. "Almost like you can hear 'em, ain't it?"

"Almost," Michael admitted, realizing he might have to use that in his prosecution. He felt understanding pass through Raphael's hand into him, how special these brothers were, why Michael allowed himself such a soft spot for them.

"Dean?" Michael looked up into hazel eyes with a light green glow that he recognized as concern. "Does your back always hurt?"

Sam's head dropped low, like he was ashamed of the answer.

"It's not that bad," Dean said quickly, but he was looking at Sam not Michael. "Especially since all this other crap happened. Some days I don't even notice it."

Sam's downturned head tilted to one side to look at Dean through those thick bangs. "Still need a hand sometimes," he said softly. "You shouldn't have been bait."

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. "Dude, would you quit with that already? Worked, didn't it? We lived. The demon died. End of story." He motioned to Michael now. "And if this idiot hadn't tried to help out the last time I landed on my back, this probably wouldn't have happened."

"He has a point," Raphael said. His hand was still on Michael's shoulder, almost possessively. "Don't do that again."

"Something must have caused it, though," Michael insisted. "Right? Something?"

Dean shrugged, glancing over at Sam.

"Well," Sam said slowly, "Dean was wrestling on the ground with Hillary."

"That was last night," Michael said dismissively. "I'm talking about more recently than that."

Dean's face blanked. Michael stared hard, not quite believing what he was seeing. "Dean? What is it?"

Dean turned his head to one side, but it was like he couldn't bring himself to shake his head. Trying to lie?

"Dean." The way Sam said his name was a clear threat, of what Michael had no idea, but it was definitely a threat.

"Mike hasn't tried Bobby's beer yet," Dean said, walking out of the room. "I'll grab one for you."

Sam's jaw dropped as his eyes hardened. Even Bobby appeared disturbed. What was going on here?


	37. Chapter 37 Crap

Yes, oddballs, my theological advisor is ba-a-ack! (And I'm think I'm driving her a little nuts with all the updates. So three cheers for _**charis-kalos**_!!)

**Chapter 37 "Crap" **

_(Yeah, little late to be naming chapters. Eh – so you think I'm a little...odd??)_

* * *

Ruby drove the piece-o'-crap car to that town where Singer lived. Her driver sat in the backseat. Once every twenty minutes or so he twitched, so she knew he was alive. Not that she really cared.

In town she left the car with its comatose occupant parked next to one of those places that served breakfast all day long. Ruby considered removing her spell, but he seemed so much better like this. She set out to Singer's place on foot.

* * *

Crap, crap, crap, crap. Crap! Dean slammed the fridge door a little too strongly and the door bounced back, threatening to bounce off its hinges. What the _**heck**_ was going on now? The curse made him pause. Sheesh, even his thoughts went through a freaking profanity filter now?

He had no intention of telling any of them what he suspected, the real reason for Mike's back pain. It had to be connected with Mike trying to heal his back after that little fall. Stupid demons. Stupid archangels. Dean stood in the doorway from the kitchen to the den, unable to force himself to walk back through. He set the beer down on the counter, turned around, and headed outside. He needed a game plan before going back in there. Sam was going to be pissed if he had to admit it. Dean hated for Sam to be angry, really angry, with him. Annoyed, irritated, even frustrated, that was fine. Flat out mad? No. Dean snorted in the afternoon air. He couldn't even lie to _himself_ anymore. This life just sucked out loud.

As he rounded the house, Dean noticed a sound. He froze, keen ears picking out the one noise that did not belong. A voice? He slipped up on it quietly, moving slowly so as not to make a sound. Apparently moving quietly did not count as lying.

"Come on, Dean. Where are you?" a light British accent asked. When Dean placed the voice, he realized that he used the wrong adjective. It should have been 'bitchish' not 'British.' Or 'Brititch'? Yeah, he'd have to remember to tell Sam that one. "Where did you and that lovely amulet go?"

His hand rose to grasp the amulet, one of the few actual gifts he had received. Ever. That frigging bitch. Anger roiled slowly in his stomach, spreading with heat through his muscles out to his skin.

"What the hell?" she whispered. "Where did everyone go?"

The words barely registered even though he felt pressure in his temples as he stepped around the corner. Bela knelt in the dirt just under the window, peering over the sill. He saw a thin black cord snaking from her ear to a round disk on the window. Not just peeping but listening in, too? And what was that little black box connected to the wire? Strong hands balled into fists.

She moved from her crouch, partially standing for a better look inside. "And that demon mutt. Did it leave too?"

"Shouldn't talk to yourself," Dean advised from the corner, unable to step closer without doing her serious bodily harm. "Or people will figure out just how crazy you are." He felt his anger radiating off of him, burning through Bobby's place.

She gasped, spinning around to face him. "Dean!" Bela recovered quickly, did her best to look indignant. "Well, I wouldn't have to stoop to such measures if you could just help a girl out."

Dean said nothing. He could hear falseness in her voice, but at the same time it didn't quite sound like a lie. A partial lie then, she needed to find him but not for his help, for his amulet. Dean Winchester, human lie detector. Sounded like a bad tv show. As he glared, imagining what he should do to her, a bright thread appeared out of his stomach.

"Not now," he grumbled, following the bright beam with his eyes. It took him to two boys playing in a park, only two miles from Bobby's. He scanned the park quickly, looking something that could be lethal. A halo of bright light formed around a thin tree branch. The boys challenged each other to climb that tree.

CRAP!

Not wasting another breath on Bela, SuperBitch, Dean raced around for the front of the house. As he closed in on the Impala, he noticed Sam sprinting from the front door. Sam slammed into the passenger seat at the same time that Dean started up his baby. Hillary barked furiously at the car, since all the doors were closed.

"Take care of Bela!" Dean shouted as he rammed the big car into drive. She took off like a perfectly tuned racecar, dust spouting from her rear wheels as they raced out of Bobby's.

"Bela?" Sam asked once they were on the road. "What about Bela?"

The road between them and the park was eaten up by the Impala. She growled with satisfaction when they roared into the park.

"Caught her sneaking around Bobby's," Dean said, jumping out of the car. The engine settled into a comfortable hum as he ran toward the trees.

"What was she doing?" Sam demanded, keeping perfect pace with him.

Dean eyed the trees, searching for the right one. Fortunately, a huge blinking neon sign appeared in the air pointing out the boys.

"Spying," Dean snapped as he stopped under the right tree. How was he supposed to save a stupid kid from falling out of a tree? "Sam, one of those kids is going to try to use that branch," he said, pointing it out. "It won't hold him. Any ideas?"

"Yeah," Sam said casually, moving closer. "Hey!" he shouted up at the boys, hands cupped around his mouth. "That branch is bad! Don't use it!" Sam waved at the branch Dean had pointed out.

Dean shot his brother a glare. "That's it? Don't use it?"

Sam shrugged back.

"Mister!" One of the boys shouted back. "What do we use? That's how we got up here!"

Sam walked around the tree. He pointed out another branch, not quite as convenient. "How's that one look to you, Dean?"

Dean eyed it, waiting for a stop sign to appear or more glowing light. Nada. He shrugged. "Dunno. Guess it's fine."

"Hey!" Sam shouted up. "Use this one! That other one is about to break."

The boys waved back that they heard. Dean watched nervously as they moved around the tree trunk to climb back down.

"Spying on us?" Sam asked, his attention on the boys too.

"Caught her looking right in that window by the couch," Dean admitted. "I don't know how long she was there, but I'm pretty sure she heard most of what we said."

Sam shook his head, still tracking the boys. "If one of them fell, would you be able to catch him?"

"You mean without breaking my back again?" Dean asked. "Beats me. Let's hope your branch holds."

Sam shot him a strange look before returning his attention to the two boys who appeared as sure in the tree as a couple of squirrels.

"She probably wouldn't understand any of it," Sam said as the boys passed the halfway mark to the ground.

"Hope not," Dean replied. He wouldn't be able to relax until those kids were standing on solid ground.

Sam cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. "Uh, so... Is Hillary keeping her there for us?"

Dean shrugged. "I told her to, but I don't know if she caught the bitch." At that moment, his back felt it necessary to make its displeasure with life in general known. Again. Dean pressed one hand against the tree to steady himself. He tried to blank his face too, after all, he had plenty of practice.

He barely noticed when the boys reached the ground and raced off, already caught up in a new game.

"Dean?" Sam was in his face. He hated that. "Dean? I asked if it was all right to leave."

Dean nodded. He hoped he would be able to walk to the car. It was worse now than it had been earlier. Asking Sam to drive would probably tip his brother off, but he didn't think he would have much choice. When he pushed off the tree and took a step, pain flared in his back. This was the worst it had been in months, maybe since before he was released from the hospital. Crap! Dean's legs buckled and he fell to his knees, holding his arms out to keep him from face-planting into the grass.

"Dean!"

Double crap. "Just a minute," he managed to say through gritted teeth. Great, now he was going to have to own up. It wasn't like he could lie about it. Phantom pain the doctors called it. He'd like to show them exactly how 'phantom' it was. Dean forced himself to breathe through it. Soon he would be able to function again. It never lasted long enough for him to actually pass out. With the deep breathing, the pain lessened to close to normal. On a one to ten scale, it was back down to a four or five. He could still hunt as long as it was under a six and normal was about a three.

Sam stood right by him, one hand on his shoulder. Dean reached up with his right hand. Sam grasped him by the forearm, pulled him to stand. Pissy Sam-face greeted him. Well, so much for that euphoria lasting.

"What was that?" Sam demanded, his free hand motioning to the ground where Dean had been doing an impression of lame duck. Nah. Wounded Rottweiler? At least that sounded tough.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. Technically it was true, it wasn't a real pain, just a phantom one. Okay, so on a one to ten scale it was about a twenty. So what? It still wasn't real.

"How the hell was that nothing?" Sam shouted.

Dean winced. Great, now he had a headache to go with the back pain. "Gonna mark this day on a calendar," he groused. "So I remember to stay in bed for it next year."

"Dean!" Sam gripped him by both arms, shook him a little. Then Dean felt it, all the worry and concern. It flowed out of Sam into him. Confused, he probed back a little, discovering that Sam was just as easy to read as he used to be. Then he was awash in a tide of guilt. Sam's guilt.

"Has it always been like that?" Sam whispered, eyes wide. Dean swallowed hard, shrugged. Sam's hands tightened around his biceps. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not real, Sam," Dean said, trying to explain. "The doctors called it a phantom pain. Just random nerve pulses that happen. I swear, Sam, it doesn't happen that often. Just when I've really overdone it."

Sam's eyes narrowed on him now. "You mean, like jumping into a river to save a kid from drowning?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

"It hit you earlier, when it hit Mike, didn't it?" Sam asked in a softer voice. "That's what happened to Mike, right?"

Dean shrugged again. "Maybe. I'm not sure. What I don't get is why he was the only one who felt it. I figured none of them would, since it isn't really real."

"We'll figure it out," Sam promised. His brother let go of his arms, but wound an arm over his shoulders to guide them both back. Dean wanted to pull away from this girly moment, but he could feel that Sam was holding back resentment at him for holding back, along with guilt over not noticing, and worry for Dean in general. He supposed he could allow some chick-flick to make his little brother feel better.

* * *

Bela ran to her new rental with that huge mutt on her heels. Again. She might have to start carrying raw meat. The way that big, good looking guy with the black hair fell on the ground was strange, but Bela was not one to pass up an opportunity, especially one that meant escape.

She almost caught the dog in her car door. Too bad she missed. Bela revved the motor, and took off at her best speed. Now that she was relatively safe, maybe she could figure this thing out. There was Dean, Sam and Bobby, those players she knew well enough. The two new players were her concern at the moment: Mike and Ralph. Ralph seemed pretty unstable, and entirely too close to Mike. Perhaps they were another set of brothers. Oh, that was exactly what she needed: more brothers. Obviously they were hunters, otherwise they would not be in the company of both Singer and the Winchesters.

What was all that healing business about? Were the Winchesters passing themselves off as healers now? That did not seem in character. There was something else, something that she was missing. Bela fingered the small recorder attached to her listening device. At least she didn't have to depend just on her memory, thanks to Daddy. He never trusted memory, it missed out on too many opportunities. A good tape recorder was worth its weight in gold, he always said. Well, hers didn't use those old fashioned tapes, but it worked well enough.

Bela arrived at her hotel and needed to switch rental cars yet again. That phone call made, she plopped down on her bed to replay the conversation at Singer's.

"Take back the pain. Duh, dude!"

"Dean! Dean!"

Sounds of the mutt from hell barking. Bela jumped ahead, knowing it would be several more minutes to get through the supposed healing part.

"Easy, Ralph. He didn't mean anything by it."

There it was. Bela backtracked quickly. She wanted to hear the first part of that. Why was it so difficult to get exactly to the point you wanted?

Ah! Here it was! Bobby Singer.

"Well, you got to admit, even for angels this is weird."

Silence.

"Easy, Ralph. He didn't mean anything by it."

Silence.

"I think she's standing guard. Dean?"

Bela stopped the recording to run it back again. After listening to that section several times, a deep suspicion grew in her mind. Men who just appeared. Voices that couldn't be recorded. Bobby Singer, of all people, referring to angels. A big, good looking man named Mike. Assuming Mike was Michael, as in The Michael, what did that make Ralph? Probably one of those parking-space angels, or an angel-in-training.

She had some serious calls to make. What was the going rate for an actual angel? And how much for an archangel? This could be her retirement score. Oh, she did love those Winchester boys.

* * *

Raphael sat on the end of the sofa, one hand buried in Michael's hair. The archangel had tried to heal Michael several times, unsuccessfully. It seemed only Dean could take on this pain, which worried Bobby more than a little.

"What could do this?" Raphael demanded, panic once again in his voice. "And why Michael?"

Bobby chewed his lower lip as he paced the floor. "This whole thing with Dean started when the kid refused to back down to Michael, right?" He didn't wait for a response from the angel, voicing his thoughts as they popped into his head. "Then Dean started taking on some of Michael's characteristics, his abilities, the rules he has to live by. What if Michael is taking on some of Dean's characteristics?" Bobby froze in his pacing to lock eyes with Raphael. "Like his back pain?"

"That might explain why only Dean can heal it," Raphael said slowly. "But I can't even find it. In our community, when something attacks one of us, we all feel it. It allows us to all respond to a threat together." His eyes never left Michael's face. "Perhaps... Perhaps Michael and Dean have bonded, like Sam and the dog."

"Sam and the dog?" Bobby asked, eyeing Hillary critically. "I kind of thought she was Dean's dog now."

Raphael looked up to offer Bobby a thin grin. "Oh, she definitely is that. But she has bonded with Sam. Don't you see the way she looks at me?" He motioned to the dog.

Hillary sat between Bobby and the archangels. When Raphael made a move in his direction, she growled.

"Sam doesn't trust me," Raphael explained. "But what I don't understand is how they bonded. Sam shouldn't be able to do that, and I don't mean because of the demon infection. No human can bond that thoroughly with an animal."

"Dean did it," Bobby said, the words flowing before he had a chance to think them through. "I remember he told Sam to take Hillary for a walk and she'd love him forever."

Raphael ran his hand through Michael's hair as he pondered. Bobby doubted Raphael would understand how odd that looked to him. "He couldn't have done it on purpose. It was probably instinct. Interesting that he would want the dog to bond with Sam and not himself."

Bobby shook his head at Raphael. "Actually, that sounds exactly like something Dean would do." With a sigh, he plopped down in his well worn and comfortable easy chair. "Dean thinks of Sam first. Always has." He took off his hat to scratch an itch. "Honestly, I don't know anymore if it's because that's the way he was raised, or if it's just Dean's nature." Bobby secured the hat back on his head, watching Raphael soothingly stroke Michael's hair. "Not that it really matters."

Raphael shrugged, staring at the far wall. "Maybe. Maybe not. Dean could be the reason Sam didn't fall to the infection like the others, the reason Sam chose our side. I know Michael was interested in Dean for years before meeting Sam, maybe that's why. I always assumed it was because of Dean's reputation and the way John talks about him."

Michael groaned and shifted on the couch. A look of relief passed over Raphael's face. "Michael? Are you with us?"

Michael groaned again. Glowing blue eyes blinked up. "Ralph? Why is your hand on my head?"

Raphael frowned, drawing his hand back slowly. "Singer's right. You must be taking on some of Dean's characteristics."

"What?" Michael tried to push himself up to a sit. Raphael had to help him. "What the heck are you talking about?"

"Well, that. For one thing," Raphael said as he sat next to Michael on the couch. "You don't speak that way. For another, you just called me Ralph. You have used Rafe on occasion, but never Ralph."

Michael stretched in a way that reminded Bobby of Dean. "That's ridiculous, Raphael. You're imagining things." He stopped stretching to turn and glare at his friend. "That still doesn't explain your hand on my head."

Raphael glared back, his eyes a soft golden brown glow. Bobby suddenly felt very vulnerable and exposed. Dean and Sam ought to be back by now, right?

"You were in pain," Raphael stated and Bobby swore he could hear thunder in the distance. "I was trying to help." Another roll of thunder. Bobby glanced out the window at the clear sky.

Michael glanced away. "Oh," was his soft reply.

Bobby let out the breath he had been holding. It looked like his house would survive the day after all.

"I'm, uh, gonna go check out front for the boys." He made a show of checking his watch. "They've been gone for almost an hour. It didn't take this long to save that drowning boy."

Bobby raced out of his own damn house. It was a good thing he liked Dean so damn much, or he'd kill the kid for getting into this kind of trouble in the first place. He discovered that right about now he was actually missing John Winchester, pain in the ass that he was. Bobby stared down the road, hoping to hear the sounds of a big block Chevy engine.


	38. Chapter 38: Pain In The

**Chapter 38: Pain In The...**

Sam drove them back to Bobby's. With that freaky backpain of Dean's, Sam wondered if he would allow his brother to ever drive again. Ha. Allow Dean to drive. Who was he to decide that: Dad? Yeah, that wasn't happening. Besides, once Dean recovered from this 'episode', Sam was pretty sure his brother would kick his ass if he even suggested that Dean not be allowed to drive. Again, that wasn't happening.

Idly, Sam wondered how bad being hit by Dean would feel now. In the past, Dean had laid a nasty right cross on him once or twice. That was before they met Michael. Dean was a lot stronger now.

"I pulled 'em," Dean said from the passenger seat, where he sat with his head back and eyes closed.

"Didn't feel like it," Sam replied.

Dean chuckled without opening his eyes. "Dude, even back then I could've broken your jaw, as delicate as you are."

Ah, screw you, Dean.

"I heard that."

Sam stomped on the brake, fishtailing the big car off the road. Dean's eyes were open now and glowing slightly, so Sam was pretty sure his brother was annoyed. Once the car was out of the traffic lane and in park, he turned to face Dean.

"You heard what?" Sam demanded.

"Screw you, Dean," his brother replied evenly. No, not annoyed, Dean felt concerned, like he didn't understand why Sam might be upset.

"How could you hear that, Dean?" Sam asked, clenching his teeth between questions. "I didn't say it."

Dean shrugged, eyes never breaking from his. "You thought it, dude."

Sam narrowed his eyes on his brother. "I thought you wouldn't eavesdrop on my thoughts. Don't you hate it when people do that to you?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "I thought we came to an agreement about that. About being open with each other." His brother spoke slowly, like he was dense or something. "So we don't screen each other out. Remember?"

Sam was torn between slamming his forehead against the steering wheel in frustration and hugging his brother for the thoughtfulness. All that was before Dean healed him! Dean was confused right now, though, Sam knew.

"Things have kind of changed, Dean," Sam began. He stopped suddenly. Dean's confusion doubled. And how the hell did Sam know that? "You're confused," he said slowly. His eyes locked with his brother. "How can I tell you're confused? I mean, I don't even need that stupid look on your face."

_Dude, good question._

"Yeah. I mean, this shouldn't..." Sam broke off. Okay, it was official: He was freaking out now. Dean's lips hadn't freaking moved! Maybe he was losing his mind?

"You're not crazy, Sam," Dean assured him. "Maybe it wasn't caused by the demon?"

Sam's eyes widened as he stared at his brother, the implication sinking in. Holy crap!

"Dude, you said it," Dean agreed.

"No I didn't," Sam grumbled. "But if it wasn't the demon, what's causing it?"

Dean shrugged, closing his eyes and leaning back again. Waves of understanding and 'we'll figure it out' flowed over Sam, settling his nerves. Sam slowly put the car back into drive. He reached out with his emotions, the way he used to back before Dean healed him. He could feel Dean's desire to calm him, reassure him. Now that he knew about the backpain, he probed a little deeper. There it was. Sam could feel the ghost of the extreme pain still lingering in Dean's back, the pure exhaustion wracking his brother's frame, and the desire for a firm bed and about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Sam pulled the car slowly out on the road, watching carefully for potholes or ruts in the road that might make the trip rough on his brother. They pulled up at Bobby's, with Bobby standing outside. Great. Now what?

"Probably Mike," Dean said with a sigh. "And I have no idea how to make him stop feeling it, either. Wish I did."

Sam snorted through his nose. "Wish I had a way of making you stop feeling it," he said.

"Yeah." Dean threw him a glance full of understanding and sympathy. "I know."

In that instant Sam understood how Dean had felt in the wake of Jessica's death, the helplessness, how his brother had wanted to take his pain away. It would have been pretty damn similar to this. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deep. He needed to be calm and in control when they faced Michael and Raphael.

"C'mon, princess," Dean said as Sam felt a nudge in his side. "Bobby doesn't look too good."

Sam directed his attention at the man standing in front of their car. Bobby did look odd. It took Sam a moment to place how Bobby looked, because he had never seen it on the man before. Shaken. Bobby looked like the foundations of his world just took a direct hit and he was still reeling from it.

"Hey, Bobby, what's going on?" Dean asked as he slowly approached their old friend.

"Bela got away," Bobby said. He glanced around before his gaze settled back on Dean. "No idea where Hillary got off to either."

"Sam, would you look for Hillary? I'm going to check on Mike," Dean said to his brother.

Sam shrugged with a nod. "Sure, Dean. No problem. You sure you're feeling okay?"

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "Yes, Sam. Holler if you need help."

Holler if he needed help. Sam made sure Dean was inside the house before shaking his head at that one. He might be in a better mood these days, but Sam was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Besides, what could he possibly run into here at Bobby's? Well, other than archangels and Bela?

Sam called for the dog, slapping his thigh. Strange, she usually came running at the sound of his voice. Sam stopped in the middle of the salvage yard, listening intently. He heard growling from his left. Following it, Sam wound around a couple of stacks of cars. The growling grew louder and Sam had the distinct impression Hillary had something trapped.

He found Hillary staring into a crevice between two rusting hulks. Some strands of blond hair hung limply from a jagged edge. Hillary was pissed if that deep, intense growl was anything to go by.

"Ruby?" Sam asked, leaning down to peer inside the crevice.

"Call off the monster mutt," Ruby snapped, her voice muffled by the metal surrounding her. "I don't know why my spells aren't working, but I can still kill it."

Sam narrowed his eyes on the pretty blond woman. "Don't you dare hurt that dog," he told her, barely containing his anger. "You as much as touch her, and I'll tell Dean about you."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Call it off."

"Hillary," Sam snapped, "stand back."

Hillary backed up a few steps, to Sam's surprise. Bobby really knew how to train dogs, he ought to do it for a living. There had to be more money in dog training than running a salvage yard. Hillary stood beside Sam, close enough for Sam to feel the heat from her body with his left leg. A deep rumble sounded from the huge dog as Ruby crawled out of her hiding place.

"Look," Ruby said as she brushed dirt off her pants, "all I need is to use your name, okay? These idiots want to unleash hell on earth, literally. There are still some demons loyal to you." She bothered to look at him then. "I'm going to round up the loyal ones and send the others back to hell. Of course, the loyal ones will expect to be rewarded, so you're going to have to promise that they can stay here."

Sam glared. Was she serious? Did this demon honestly think he'd go for that?

"It's the lessor of two evils," Ruby insisted, as if she could read his thoughts.

Sam glanced back at the house. Inside were two archangels and two demon hunters, and Ruby had been trapped by an ordinary dog. Hillary snorted, turning her head to shoot him a disgusted dog-look. Okay, so maybe not a totally ordinary dog. Sam reached down to scratch her head.

"Sorry, girl," he apologized. Hillary's attention returned to Ruby, accompanied by another growl.

"Lady, do you have any idea who is inside that house?" Sam whispered.

Ruby sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. "Look, Sam, I know who lives here, which is why there is no way I'm going inside that house."

Well at least she was scared of Bobby, so she wasn't totally crazy.

"Do I get to use your name or not? You don't have to tell that worthless brother of yours about letting a few demons stay topside, just kind of steer your hunting around them. I can help you do that. I'm sure there will be some we won't be able to round up. You and Dean can go after them. Deal?" She stuck out a hand.

Actually, when Sam really thought it over, it didn't sound like such a bad deal. Hillary stopped growling to sit next to his foot.

* * *

Mike glanced around, recognizing that he was in Bobby's house this time. He told himself that it looked different from a horizontal position, that was why he hadn't recognized it before. The slam of the front door saved him from responding to Ralph's accusations about acting like Dean. Yeah, like that could happen.

"Mike?" Dean's voice cut through the house. "Hey, Mike! You all right?"

Was he all right? Was he all right! Mike shot to his feet, anger coursing through him. Dean knew, that sneaky human bastard knew! When Dean came into view, Mike could see that the latest episode hit him pretty hard, too. Dean's jeans had a new tear in the knee and were covered with dirt, as though he'd fallen.

"What happened?" Mike demanded, stepping forward in his most threatening manner. "What did it?"

Dean sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Look, I never thought it would affect any of you. Honest."

"Never thought what would affect any of us?" Mike asked through gritted teeth as he clenched his fists.

"Dude, chill out," Dean snapped, eyes flashing. Literally flashing. Dean's eyes glowed bright green. "It's not like it was intentional!"

Mike's anger rose too. "It's not like WHAT was intentional?" he shouted, noticing Bobby look up at the ceiling. Mike glanced up too, saw dust streaming down in thin rivulets from cracks in the ceiling plaster.

"It's called phantom pain, you big harp-less idiot!" Dean shouted back, stepping forward. "It isn't real!"

"What do you mean, it isn't real?" Mike asked as his anger began to ebb.

"What does phantom pain mean?" Raphael asked from over his shoulder.

Dean's eyes shifted to Raphael. "It means it's not real," Dean said with a sigh and a shrug. "Nothing causes it, just random nerves firing. Sometimes when I overdo it, I get a bad one."

"Like today?" Mike asked, understanding settling in and overriding his anger.

Dean collapsed into a soft looking chair. "I guess."

"How often does this happen?" Raphael demanded. His friend sounded terribly worried.

Dean's eyes shifted to the arm of the chair where he traced the fabric pattern with one finger.

"Does it happen often?" Raphael repeated.

Dean grimaced, glancing toward the door. "Don't tell Sam, okay? He'll just worry." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, it happens often. Mike doesn't seem to notice the normal ones, just the big ones."

"Dean!" Bobby snapped and Dean cringed. "Why wouldn't you tell us?"

Dean gave the older man a pleading look. "It's not something you or Sam can do anything about, Bobby. It's okay. Really. I just didn't want to worry you."

Mike relaxed. Nothing was attacking Dean, it was normal. Well, normal for a Winchester. A chuckle from Raphael drew his attention. "What?" Mike demanded.

Raphael grinned. "Harp-less idiot?" He motioned to Dean, an expression of glee plastered on his face. "And you're going to let him get away with it? Really?"

Mike felt extremely uncomfortable. Dean squirmed in his chair. Could he really explain? And did he want to? Heck, Mike wasn't sure he understood why either. All he knew for sure was the fact he didn't hate Dean. He didn't hate Dean a lot. Or Sam.

"Inside joke," Mike offered his oldest and closest friend. He hoped it would be enough for Raphael, because he didn't have anything else to offer.

Raphael's features shifted, he did not understand. That was clear. "Okay, Michael," was what he said. Ralph didn't understand, but he was willing to trust Mike. They still had that. They always had that, and hopefully they always would.

The confused look melted away into sheer confidence. "I should check in with the council. Our departure was rather...abrupt." Their eyes met and Mike understood Ralph's intent, and his friend's concerns and worries.

"Good. I'll be fine here," Mike assured him. Ralph did not move. "I don't think proximity is a factor. I'll be fine."

Ralph gave him a nod before fading from sight.

"I'm never gonna get used to that," Bobby said softly in wonder.

Mike was pretty sure Dean was just as impressed, though the younger man would never admit it. Dean's brow creased and he looked out the window.

"Something's going on out there," he said slowly. "Sam's trying to block me. You sense anything out there?"

His first thought was to ask what Dean meant by Sam trying to block him, but Mike did sense something outside. The something outside was touched by Hell and could still be connected to it. They should check it out, if Dean could handle it. It would be a bad time for another phantom pain.

"Hillary isn't real happy either," Dean added as he stood. "Let's go."

Odd. Mike tried to sense Hillary, but he could not locate the dog. She was part of Dean's network. He felt a rush of pride. Dean was building up his own personal network, comparable to theirs but on a much smaller scale. Once the others discovered it they would want to investigate, but for now Mike would try to shield it.

* * *

What would it really hurt to pit demons against each other, Sam wondered. And if Ruby just used his name, would that implicate him? After all, he did have a trial coming up, he needed to watch those kind of things.

"Do you really need my permission?" he asked. "Why couldn't you just use my name anyway?"

Ruby tapped a foot impatiently. "Sam, do I get permission or not? I kind of need to know."

Sam stared at her for a moment. "You mean, you can't use my name without my permission? Is that it?"

He stuck his hands in his pockets as he looked down at Hillary. "What do you think?"

Hillary made some rumbling noises. Sam imagined how she might respond to that.

"Yeah," Sam said to the dog, "we probably ought to talk to Dean about it first." He glanced back at the house. He could feel Dean heading their way. "And here he comes. Want to stick around?"

"Stick around?" Ruby demanded. "And talk to your idiot, demon-killing brother? Yeah, don't think so, Sam." Ruby headed toward the back of the lot, presumably how she came in. She paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "Just give me permission and I'm out of here. You don't ever have to see me again."

"Really?" That sounded pretty good, but Dean was headed their way. Hillary growled again. Right, no decisions without discussing them with Dean. But demon against demon...that was tempting. "Me not ever seeing you again would make it difficult to steer clear of those demons on my side."

Ruby grimaced. "Fine, hunt them down. All of them. I don't really care. Just let me use your name!"

Hillary stood up, all the fur on her back standing straight out as a growl rumbled deep in her chest. She lunged toward Ruby before Sam had a chance to give her an answer. Ruby put out a hand and Sam remembered what happened to one of Bobby's dogs who had crossed Meg.

"No!" he screamed as he reached out to grab Hillary, but that dog was fast. Hillary was on top of Ruby, pinning the demon to the ground and snarling and growling and barking for all she was worth. Ruby had both arms up, protecting her face.

Sam took a step back, confused. How did Hillary do that? Or was Hillary supposed to be able to do that and he should be asking how Meg was able to kill Bobby's last dog?

"Sam!" Dean skidded to a halt beside him. "Sam? What is it?"

"Uh..." Yeah, like he had a good answer for that. 'Oh, nothing, Dean, I was just talking deals with a demon, that's all. How did your talk in the house with the archangels go?'

"Hillary!" Dean bellowed. The big dog backed off of Ruby, moving to stand between them and her.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded of Ruby.

Ruby lowered her arms to glare at Dean. Then she turned to smile at Sam. "Sammy? Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"It's Sam," he snapped instantly.

Ruby stood, brushing the dirt off her backside.

"The dog really doesn't like you," Dean said slowly. "So what are you?"

She opened her mouth when her attention wavered from Dean to something else. Sam looked back to see if Bobby was here too. Instead he found Michael standing just off to the side.

"Oh, it's you," Ruby said with a sneer. "Planning to glue my feet to the ground again? Cute trick, by the way."

Dean moved back a step, to stand closer to the angel. "You know her?"

Michael shook his head, dark waves cascading wildly over his head. "Not exactly. We've spoken, but I never got a name."

"Demon?" Dean demanded, stepping back beside Sam. "What do you want here, bitch?"

Ruby snorted as she turned away. "Later, Sam."

Sam started to call out a warning, but Dean's reaction was faster.

"Christo!"

Dean's voice bounced around the salvage yard, the whole area resonating with one word. Mike's eyes glowed blue and Dean's shimmered with green energy. Ruby, however, was a different story.

Normally saying 'Christo' caused a demon to flinch and black demon eyes to show, but Sam guessed when Dean said it it had a little more punch. Ruby was lifted up and thrown about ten feet, where she landed on her ass. When she looked up at Dean, mouth hanging open, her eyes were pitch black.

"Awesome," Sam said. "Mike, will that happen every time?"

"Always works for me," Michael replied.

"Mike?" Ruby panted. "Not as in...Michael? Oh," she groaned. "I have the worst freaking luck."

"Yes, you do. And you are?" Michael asked.

"Ruby," Sam answered for her. "We were just talking."

"Talking?" Dean spun to face him. "With a demon? Sam, what were you thinking?"

"She said she had a way of rounding up some demons to send the others back to hell," Sam explained quickly. "But Ruby claims she has to have permission to use my name to do it. I wanted to talk to you about it first."

Hillary made some low grumbling noises. Dean looked down at her, like he was listening to what she had to say, too.

"I don't care," Dean said to the dog, "we don't make deals with demons!"

Dean's hot green gaze landed on Sam again. "And you should know better, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "Demon against demon, Dean. You have to admit, it's tempting."

Dean shifted to glare at Ruby. "Take off, before I exorcise your ass."

"There are rules," Ruby snapped, standing close to Dean. "I haven't broken any of the rules, so you can't touch me." She stuck her tongue out.

Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously and Sam had a pretty good idea of what was coming. He wasn't disappointed. One of Dean's hands shot straight out, palm connecting with Ruby's chest. She shot backward, flying further than she had before.

"Ow!" she whined as she sat up. "You can't do that!"

Dean glared at her. "There may be rules, but I'm no angel. I'd suggest you remember that. Hillary, you mind?"

The big dog stalked forward, growling and snarling. Ruby leapt to her feet, making a mad dash to get away. Mike chuckled at the sight.

"God, I wish I could get away with that," he said softly. "Dean, if I gave you a list..."

Dean shook his head, chuckling. "Anytime, dude. But right now, I could really use some shut-eye." He looked Mike over. "How about you?"

Mike shrugged in a way that was so similar to Dean, it made Sam wonder. "Later, guys," he said as he faded from sight.

"C'mon, Sam. Apparently I can't let you out by yourself," Dean said, voice tired and weary.

Sam rushed to walk beside his big brother. "I wasn't going to do anything without talking to you first," he insisted.

"You're on trial, Sam," Dean said, glancing his way. "You can't just be caught chatting with demons. It doesn't look good, Sammy."

"I know," Sam sighed. "It won't happen again. Okay, Dean? I promise."

"Okay, Sam."

Sam followed his brother anxiously into the house. Dean didn't even bother going upstairs, preferring to crash on the couch. Before Sam had time to decide if he wanted to try talking to Dean again or go grab something to drink, soft snores came from his brother's prone form.


	39. Chapter 39: Changes

For fans of warm fuzzies, this chapter is for you! Well, there's that and some plot. Yeah, I know, but I do find having plot helps encourage my writing. Thanks again to everyone following this (Hi Mom!) and to my awesome theological adviser (you know what's dedicated to you!).

**Chapter 39 Changes**

Mike sat atop his favorite mountain looking down. Dense cloud cover obscured his view of the village below, but that was fine. He didn't want to think about people or problems. Right now he could pretend to be the only living thing on the face of the Earth. Well, one of two.

"Hey, Ra-a-afe," he greeted, barely catching his slip in time.

Raphael squatted next to him shaking his head. "I'll make a deal with you, Michael. You can call me Ralph if I can call you Mike."

He did not answer right away, preferring watching the misty clouds below to seeing Raphael's face. To agree to the deal would be tantamount to admitting Dean had influenced him. To not agree might alienate Raphael, and he could not live with that. Being immortal, it was important to know the things you could and could not live with, because you had to live with them for a long time. Plus, he discovered he already thought of Raphael as Ralph.

"Yeah, okay," Mike said, still focused on the mist inching towards them. "Just don't tell Gabe."

"Gabe?" Raphael asked as he settled in next to Mike. "Who's Gabe?"

Mike shot Ralph a quick glance. "Gabriel?"

Ralph shook his head. "You're behind. It's Gabby now. I think Dean changed it to be complimentary, since she's Sam's defense attorney."

Mike groaned, rolling out his shoulders. Where did this stiffness come from? "He really doesn't have a clue about her, does he?"

"Well," Ralph said slowly, leaning back to stare up at the sky, "she hasn't broken out the flaming sword yet, so I'd have to say he's holding his own."

"I hope so," Mike muttered. "Did you notice the dog?" he asked quickly in the hopes of diverting Ralph's attention from the trial.

"You recognized Dean bonded her with his brother?" Ralph asked. He picked up a rock the size of his fist, flinging it toward the sky. Mike watched as the rock arced back down in a brilliant streak which would not be visible to anyone on the ground in this weather. In the old days they often used such methods to warn humans of impending disaster. Now people liked watching meteor showers, so it lost all of its effectiveness. Still, he and Ralph occasionally made their own show, just for fun.

Mike picked up a rock, sent it hurtling through the sky in a similar fashion. "No, not that part," he admitted. "Just that she acts like she's a part of them." It was as close to telling Ralph what he suspected of Dean building up his own network as he dared. "It would explain why she doesn't like you or Gabriel, though."

"Yes, it does," Raphael replied. Another rock shot through the atmosphere. "What would you suggest I do, to win Sam over?"

Mike tried to make his next rock follow the exact same route as Ralph's. His eyes followed the searing path back through the atmosphere until the rock burned up miles above the ground. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the metaphor he needed to use. "Imagine that you're Sam and I'm Dean. What would convince you some unbelievably powerful archangel who is overseeing your trial isn't a threat? Especially after another archangel has caused your brother to undergo such extreme changes?"

Ralph sent another rock into the sky. "Lost cause? I was afraid of that. I kind of like the kid." His shoulder bumped Mike's. "What about Singer? Think he has some influence? He says I'm his favorite angel."

"I think Singer has more influence than he realizes," Mike said as his eyes scoured the area. The rest of the rocks around him just weren't up to par. "We might need a new spot," he said, "I don't like the looks of the rest of these rocks."

"You picked it," Ralph replied.

"Pain in the ass," Mike mumbled softly, still searching for a suitable rock.

He felt a nudge in his side. Mike turned his head to lock gazes with Raphael. "You too," his friend told him.

Mike felt the grin spread over his face, helpless to stop it. "I know. Really made a mess this time, didn't I?"

Ralph shrugged, eyes never wavering. "It's not all bad. One way or another, we'll get all three of them through it."

"Four," Mike said, holding up one hand. "Don't forget the dog."

Ralph frowned at him. "I didn't. Oh, but I did forget Singer. Okay, all four of them." His frown drifted away, replaced by a look of intense curiosity. "What would you think of Gabriel using the dog as a witness?"

Mike stared back. The possibility had never occurred to him. "I'd say it would take the prosecution completely by surprise. And it'd be impossible to refute the animal's testimony, since most dogs are incapable of lying."

Ralph winked. "I was hoping you'd say that. I'll go talk to her, see if I can convince her to do it. The dog really hates her, so no promises."

Mike nodded in understanding. "I'll talk to Dean about that, see if he can get Sam and the dog to back off her, but no promises."

Ralph waved a hand over the craggy ground in front of them. Numerous rocks, of the perfect shape and size and number for a small private meteor shower, appeared. Ralph handed him one. "Later," he said as he pulled his arm back for the throw.

Mike picked one up, looking at Ralph quizzically. "What rock quarry did you get these from? That place in Australia?"

"Come on, Mike," he said, using the new nickname for the first time, "if you're going to do something, you should do it right." Ralph threw him a wink. Ralph thought the best meteor shower rocks either came from Australia or the asteroid belt. Australia for the size and shape, the belt for the weight. These had the markings of Australia.

Mike imitated Ralph's pose, which was an imitation of Ralph's favorite Greek statue. "Right. Let's do this."

The rock pair streaked through the sky, each perfectly mirroring the other's trajectory. Mike grinned at the sight. He might have made a mess of things, but maybe it wasn't such a bad mess. Maybe some good could come of it.

* * *

The phone fell from Bela's shaking fingers. Water. She needed water. She stumbled into the hotel bathroom to splash some cool water on her face, smearing her makeup. Not that she cared. Huge numbers flashed through her mind, stealing her breath and setting her hands trembling again. She splashed more water on herself, soaking the hair around her face and the front of her shirt. Control. She had to get a grip.

Bela stared at her reflection as she breathed deeply. Screw the retirement score, this one would keep her rolling in high dollars for the rest of her life. All she had to do was figure out how to trap an archangel, she wasn't even to be responsible for transportation. The client insisted on providing transportation. It was almost too perfect, but Bela was not about to look at this one too close. As long as she got the money promised, they could rent the angel out for kids' birthday parties for all she cared.

With a little proof of her claim, Bela could get a 'good faith' down payment. They wanted video, if it were possible. Since the voices of the angels didn't record Bela did wonder if video would capture them, but it was worth trying. She decided to use several different recording media, in case one worked better than the others. As soon as her nerves settled, she needed to go shopping. At least she didn't need to research what it would take to restrain an angel, the client would be delivering precisely what would be needed as soon as they had their proof.

Well, if video did not work, she could always invite the client to come see the angel personally. Since he seemed to be drawn to Dean, Bela could use the obnoxious man as bait. She heard Dean always volunteered to be bait when he hunted, so he ought to feel right at home with it.

* * *

Sam paced the small kitchen, unwilling to do his worrying where there was more space out of fear of waking Dean.

"You could pace outside," Bobby suggested as he rummaged in the fridge. "I don't think that would wake up your stubborn-ass brother."

Sam blew out a noisy breath. "He'd probably hear the door and coming running out after me. No, Bobby, I have to stay inside while he's sleeping, so he won't worry."

Bobby's head popped above the fridge door. "Sam. Dean's asleep. I've been in and out that door ten times since he crashed and he hasn't moved. Go outside and drive Hillary crazy instead of me."

Sam just grunted in response as his pacing reached an almost frantic level. "You weren't caught chit-chatting with a demon about her wanting permission to use your name to start a demon war. Dean's not worried about you."

He wasn't completely surprised when Bobby appeared in his path, blocking Sam from pacing. Annoyed, but not surprised. "Now what?" Sam demanded.

"That's not why you're pacing, is it?" Bobby asked in a gentle voice.

Damn it. It was cool when Bobby did this to Dean, not to him. Sam glared at their oldest and dearest friend. Family. Friend. No, Bobby was definitely more like family, which meant Sam didn't have to hold back. So he ground his teeth as he glared.

"You're worried about the back spasms," Bobby stated, glaring back. "Kind of explains a few things though, doesn't it?"

Sam exhaled noisily through his nose as he ran his hands through his hair. "Like when he takes naps for no reason, and gets moodier than usual." Mentally he connected the dots he had been ignoring for nearly two years. He backed up to lean against the kitchen counter. "God, it's been happening the whole time, hasn't it? Since the fight."

His eyes searched out Bobby's, hoping to find the same fear and worry. Sam was not disappointed.

"Damn kid's always been good at hiding things," Bobby said in the same gentle tone. Pain creased the older man's face. "Still have the number of those doctors? Maybe there's still something we can do, something he can take for it. Hell, I dunno, some special kind of exercise. Anything." Bobby's arms flung open wide.

"Yeah." Sam scrambled for his phone. "Yeah, right. Good idea. I think I still have their numbers, you know, just in case." He scrolled through his phone list, starting with D for doctor. Ah-ha, here they were. There were five doctors listed. Shit. Fine, he would call them all.

Doctor One's number now belonged to a mechanic in South Dakota. Doctor Two had been Dean's internist. Doctor Three didn't answer. On doctor four Sam hit paydirt. Finally.

"Yes, I remember Dean Singer," he said. "Amazing recovery. I wrote a paper about it which was published in several medical journals. Rather grateful to him for that."

Sam tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "Well, he's my brother."

"Right, you were hospitalized too, but I don't remember why. Sorry you weren't more of an interesting case," the doctor said conversationally.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Sam rolled his eyes and took a deep breath before trying again. "Anyway, the reason I'm calling is to see if you remember those phantom pains Dean was experiencing?"

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why?" He heard some papers shuffling in the background. "Does he need to come back in?"

"Why?" Sam asked eagerly. "Is there something you can do?"

"Well, we can run more tests," the doctor offered. "If there is a physical reason for the pain we may be able to find it now. I remember trying to convince Dean to come back in about six months after his last scheduled appointment so we could check on the pain, but he wasn't interested."

"Figures," Sam grumbled. "If I brought him in now, would you be able to take a look at him?"

"Are you kidding?" the doctor sounded as eager as Sam felt. "Tell you what, I'm supposed to be off this Friday, but I'll come in to see Dean. How does that sound?"

"Great." Sam gave Bobby a relieved look and the older man's whole demeanor shifted from anxious to more relaxed. "We'll see you on Friday. What time?"

"Does nine work for you? That should give us enough time to run some tests and give him a pretty thorough physical before Dean's patience runs out completely."

Sam chuckled over the doctor's concerns. "You do remember my brother. Sure, nine is great. See you then."

Sam returned his phone to his pocket feeling a ton of weight lifted from his shoulders.

"What was that about the doc remembering Dean?" Bobby asked curiously.

Sam felt a grin coming on. "He said at that time of the morning, he should be able to do the tests and give Dean a physical before Dean's patience runs out completely."

Bobby grinned back. "Yep. Dean's a hard one to forget." One meaty hand grasped Sam's shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Sam. I'm sure there's something that can be done."

Sam nodded at Bobby, the pressure in his chest easing a little.

"Now, what was that crap about you chatting with demons?" Bobby asked, the hand on his shoulder tightening to an uncomfortable degree.

Crap.

* * *

Ruby laid stretched out on the cheap motel bed listening to the sound of her host body breathing. It was a reassuring sound, familiar. It reminded her of a time long ago when she had a body of her own.

She had crossed paths with the Archangel Michael, twice, and lived. How many demons could actually make that claim? Well Azazel, obviously, but he was dead. There were a few more demons able to lay claim to crossing paths with Dean Winchester and living, but it was still a select group . Ruby suspected all of them met Dean when he was still fully human, which put her in a class all of her own.

Could she use this to her advantage? Could this help in her quest to banish the others back to Hell?

She would start by visiting the others still loyal to Sam Winchester. Since she could not claim to represent him, Ruby would have to settle for the truth; Sam's demon-hunting brother had angelic abilities now. Everyone after Sam had far more of a challenge than they knew. Then again, perhaps she should keep that part to herself. Ruby could subtly give out Sam's location, just one or two demons at a time, lead them to their doom at Singer's. She still had her list and there were many names remaining.

Maybe in a little while Ruby would feel like moving. The sound of breathing meant they were still alive. For now, she would lie here and listen to her body breathe.

* * *

Dean shifted to lie flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Sam knew. Bobby knew. Freaking Mike and Ralph knew. Maybe he should rent a flashing neon sign: Dean has back pain. Did it really matter? It never stopped him from doing his job, never hindered a hunt, never kept him from protecting Sam.

If only he had backed down to Mike, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have freaky angel things happening, glowing eyes, or be able to read the darn dog's mind. Not to mention his new built-in profanity filter. Talk about having your hands tied. How was he supposed to be able to express himself without using the proper language? Then there was the whole no-lying thing. Honestly, and it wasn't like he could be anything but, he lied more to Sam than anybody except chicks. From 'I'm fine Sam' to 'your latest temper tantrum didn't hurt my feelings.' Now – nada. Heck, Sam could even tell what he was feeling. Again.

Was that Sam's doing or his, though? Before it had been all Sam, but now? He did like knowing Sam didn't have plans on sneaking off to hide behind a white picket fence someplace. Did that mean he caused it this time? Was his frigging self-esteem really so low? Well, yeah, it was, but that didn't mean he did it.

He was thinking in circles now, not reaching any new conclusions. It would take Sam's brain to figure out why they shared emotions and thoughts again, not his.

Satisfied with the thought it was Sam who needed to figure this out, Dean carefully shifted his back. It was sore and tired but no mind-bending, knee-crashing, life-altering pain. Good. Even so, he still didn't want to move. Moving meant going upstairs to a real bed, which would be better for his back, but still required movement. He just didn't want to move. The sofa wasn't the greatest furniture in the world, but it was comfortable enough.

A whine came from outside. Hillary wanted to come in. "Go tell Sam," he called out, closing his eyes.

"Tell Sam what?" his brother's voice demanded.

Dean opened his eyes again. Sam appeared far more relaxed than he had earlier, which was kind of suspicious. "Hillary wants inside. Probably looking for a nap in the a/c and a belly rub."

"Is she heading for the door?" Sam asked. Funny how little bro didn't seem disturbed by the fact he was asking Dean to communicate with a frigging dog.

"Probably," he said. Sam headed for the front door, but Hillary wasn't that far yet. "Kitchen door, it's closer to the food."

Sam chuckled as he turned around. "Back in a minute," he promised. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Bobby still owes the mutt some steak!" Dean shouted as he allowed his eyes to fall shut.

He might have fallen asleep again, he couldn't be sure, but suddenly Sam was sitting in the chair facing the sofa. Dean didn't even need to open his eyes to know, which was just a little creepy. A gentle warm nuzzle of his hand told Dean Hillary was here too, and Sam had produced the promised reward. She grunted agreeably as she settled on the floor next to him. He smiled as his fingers sifted through her fur.

"What'd you want to talk about?" Dean asked. Sam had seen him move. He probably wouldn't have been able to fake sleeping anyway, too much like lying.

"Uh, well..." Sam cleared his throat. Uneasiness and Sam-guilt pervaded the room. Dean opened his eyes. Surely Sam wasn't still stressing over the demon? It wasn't like he had made any deals. Had he? Dean did a quick emotional check, but the guilt felt older than a few hours, more like years' worth. He'd better not need to sit up for this.

"I kept the numbers for your doctors. Because of your back," Sam said, his words a frenzied rush. "You have an appointment on Friday, the doctor is coming in on his day off just to see you."

Dean allowed the sour expression to cover his face. "Because I'm such an interesting case?"

Sam's cheeks pinked as he winced. "You remember him."

Dean rolled his eyes. "How could I forget the asshole? Do you remember all the people he used to parade through my room? That jackass actually wanted me to come back in every six months to monitor me, like that was going to happen."

Sam's eyes widened. "Did you just use the words asshole and jackass?"

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Dude, I'm way too tired to figure any of this crap out. All I want to do is sleep for about ten years." He waved a hand in Sam's direction. "Figuring stuff out is your territory."

"Dean, there might be something they can do and I want you to go. And you're wrong." Sam's eyes fixed on him.

"Now what am I wrong about?" Dean asked in resignation. Did Sam come spoiling for a fight?

"We figure stuff out," Sam said and he looked serious when he said it. Dean studied his brother for a moment, waiting for the punch line. "You and me."

Dean kept waiting. Sam had a point to make, but darned if he knew what it was.

Sam's face relaxed into a sympathetic expression. "Okay, I know I don't say it. Like ever. But just one of the reasons you're so good at the job is because you're really good at figuring things out. So I'll see if there's anything to research, and I might make a list. A little one. And then we'll go over what I find together. Okay?"

Sam meant it, nobody could fake that kind of sincerity. "Whatever," Dean replied, closing his eyes.

"So you'll go to the doctor?" Sam asked.

What did the doctor have to do with research? Dean groaned, shifting on the couch again. Next thing he knew, a heavy warm weight was right in the middle of his chest. He peeked at his chest to find Hillary's huge head staring at him. She made some noises, but he knew exactly what she wanted.

"If you'll let me go back to sleep, I'll go to the stupid doctor," Dean promised her. Apparently satisfied, Hillary shifted her head off his chest. She stretched out beside the couch with a deep grunt and a muffled plop of her heavy body hitting the floor.

"Bobby should buy her a bed," Dean mumbled with his eyes closed and fingers buried in warm, soft fur.

"We'll take care of it later," Sam's voice promised from someplace close yet very far away. "Promise, Dean."


	40. Chapter 40:The Plot Thickens

Hey oddballs! Welcome back to another chapter in this flight of oddball fantasy. We have a couple of new readers (gives oddball salute). Welcome to the fold! As always, thanks to everyone following and those kind of enough to review, and especially to my theological advisor for taking breaks from writing sermons for this left-field trip into proof-reading.

**Chapter 40 - The Plot Thickens  
**

Bela sneaked through Singer's junkyard. Really, what was the point in hanging on to all these rusted cars? Surely there wasn't any profit in it. Some hunters started to lose it when they aged, if they lived that long. Perhaps it was happening to Singer. Really, she would accept pretty much any explanation along those lines for all this junk.

The strap of her carrying bag cut into her shoulder. Bela hefted it up to briefly relieve the pressure. "Had to buy ten different kinds of cameras, didn't I?" she hissed to herself.

It wasn't easy working by the dim, thin beam of her tiny flashlight, but Bela stuck it out. Before dawn broke, she had twenty different cameras, two of each kind, placed in strategic positions. Even if one or two were found, there would be plenty more. Hopefully she would be able to get at least a few seconds of positive proof of the existence of the angels. Tired but thoroughly pleased with herself, Bela slipped out of the junkyard. She needed to check the feed back at her hotel room before she could sleep.

* * *

Ruby stood by a nice suburban mailbox. She twirled her demon-killing blade in one hand, deliberately getting the attention of the woman who lived there. The woman stalked out, her hard hurried steps putting her anger on display.

"What?" she hissed at Ruby. "This is my neighborhood." One hand waved at a symbol laid out innocently in her front flowerbed. "Or can't you read?"

Ruby shrugged, pretending to gaze around without interest. "I just thought you'd like a little information on Sam Winchester. But since you don't..." She shrugged again, turning away.

"Ruby?" Yes, she knew that disdainful sneer, would know it in any body. "Is that you?"

Ruby turned back and it took every ounce of will she still possessed not to sneer. "Yes, it's me."

"Why would you offer me information about Sam Winchester?" she demanded.

Ruby walked as close as she dared to the demon who had taken Ruby's soul in exchange for giving her the powers of a dark witch. "I heard you were after him. Something about a PR campaign?" She offered a small smile. "I'm sure Lilith would greatly reward anyone who brought in Sam's head on a silver platter."

"Why don't you do it?" the demon demanded.

Ruby attempted to look sexy as she leaned in closer. "Because I thought I'd save him. For you," she purred.

The demon's eyes flashed black as the implications of Ruby's offer sunk in. "I always did like you, Ruby. Always." She ran a finger along Ruby's jaw. "You do know I tried to make your stay in hell as easy as possible."

Ruby leaned into her touch. "I know," she whispered.

"Where is he?" the demon asked, still caressing Ruby's cheek.

"South Dakota, the house of Bobby Singer. He's a demon hunter," Ruby said in a breathless voice, unable to believe how well this was working. If she didn't give warning of Singer being a demon hunter and this demon discovered it on her own, she might suspect Ruby was holding something else back. Ruby couldn't risk that.

"Thank you," she breathed in Ruby's ear. "I'll reward you for this." The head of her meat suit tilted back, black smoke pouring out of her mouth and curling into the sky.

"Wha-what was that?" the woman asked, dazed.

Ruby grinned maliciously. "Get some therapy, moron."

She rushed to leave in order to transport herself back to Sam. It would be better if the Winchesters were warned. Then again, considering the way a certain archangel came and went constantly, not to mention how many angel traits Dean seemed to have taken on, that might not be necessary. She decided the Winchesters should be able to hold their own. Relieved, Ruby scanned her mental list for the next demon to send to Singer's.

* * *

Two men in cheap dark suits flanked an old man in a red-trimmed black robe. The old man had a soft, weathered face and watery blue eyes and he moved with a slow shuffle-walk. When one of the men in suits offered a hand to help, he accepted and patted the young man's arm in thanks. He shuffled into the lobby of an expensive hotel.

The hotel manager, who had been watching for this man's arrival, raced through the lobby to meet him. All of the arrangements taken care of prior to his arrival, the old man was escorted to the finest suite in the hotel. He sat in a high backed chair as people brought in his luggage. The men in suits took their usual positions, one outside his door and the other in the room to attend to his needs.

"Tell me," he said to the young man when they were alone, "who is this woman again?"

"Bela," the young man replied as he pulled a personal digital assistant from his pocket. "She uses numerous last names including Lugosi, after the actor. Those names are meaningless, however."

"Why?" the old man asked. "If she uses them, there must be information attached to them."

The young man nodded again. "Yes, sir, but it's mostly just crime. She's a high income thief."

The old man frowned at his assistant. "And how exactly does this make her an expert on angels?"

The young man shook his head. "It doesn't. Our intelligence indicates that if this Bela character actually managed to locate any angel it would be on the order of miraculous. For her to find earth-bound coordinates for Michael..." He shrugged.

The old man smiled at him. "Then we pray for our miracle, Daniel."

The young man, Daniel, knelt before the old man. Hands shaking with age were placed on the young man's forehead and shoulder as a prayer in Latin came from well practiced ancient lips. When he finished, the old man looked down kindly at his assistant.

"Imagine Daniel, actually meeting Michael. This is an opportunity that comes maybe once a millennium," he said, voice shaking with emotion.

"Yes, Cardinal," the young man replied, a light of devotion in his eyes.

"Now we pray for this Bela," the Cardinal told his assistant, "that she may call with our proof soon."

Daniel's head bowed again as the softly-spoken Latin poured forth. All their hopes and dreams rested on the shoulders of a thief.

* * *

Bela double-checked her monitoring equipment. Again. She could see Singer's house from every angle, each perspective from at least two different types of cameras. Perfect. There wasn't much more she could do, really, except wait. She hated waiting. For a brief instant Bela considered heading out for a bar to knock a few back and relax her nerves, but she couldn't leave. Not now. Not with so much riding on this.

If Michael did not miraculously appear, she would have to do something to make him appear. Dean was not one to trifle with, so careful planning needed to be done. Bela stretched out on her bed, her computer flashing scenes around Singer's house, as various scenarios for capturing Dean ran through her head. A few brought a smile to her face, especially the one involving towing his car. She doubted he ever got over the last time.

As Bela stared unseeing as the lights inside Singer's came on, she wondered if an archangel would try to help out if Dean were arrested. A life-threatening situation would be better, of course, but perhaps there would not be a need to go quite so far. If she didn't have to hurt Dean, physically, why bother? Besides, the voicemail he left after she took the Colt was rather, well, colorful.

Still nothing happening at Singer's. Well, it had only been maybe an hour; did she really expect results so soon? That was not a reasonable expectation, but Bela was not one to wait. She made things happen, just like Daddy. The car seemed a good place to start.

* * *

Sam woke from a sound sleep. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, wondering what woke him, when he realized the room was not dark. Rolling his head to the side to check on Dean, Sam discovered his brother's stomach had a ball glowing above it.

Curious, Sam slipped out of bed to stand over Dean. He studied the ball of light before attempting to touch it, but his hand passed through. It reminded him of Tron and the bit that followed the main character around inside the computer. Freaking Disney.

"Dean?" Sam shook his brother's arm. "Hey, Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean's eyes opened slowly, the glow not bright but Sam could still tell it was there. "Sam? Problem?"

"You have a bit," Sam told him.

"I have a what?" Dean demanded, sleepy confusion giving way to irritation.

"Look." Sam waved at the glowing ball.

Dean stared at it, the confusion returning. The ball whirled in the air before plunging down into Dean's stomach. Shocked, Sam sucked in breath. Dean stared at his stomach for a moment, then his eyes lifted staring off into the distance.

"Crap," he mumbled. "Come on, Sam. You're driving."

Sam grimaced as he pulled on a pair of jeans. "Back that bad?" he asked.

"Don't push it," Dean warned, rolling out of bed completely dressed. He grabbed his jacket from the foot of the bed as he stood.

"Uh, you don't change for bed anymore?" Sam demanded as he scooped his sneakers with one hand and a shirt with the other.

"Nope. Wastes too much time," Dean stated as he rushed out the door.

"Great," Sam muttered as he raced down the stairs after his brother, "now he tells me." He had his shirt halfway on by the time they reached the front door. Outside, Sam tossed his shoes into the car in order to shove his other arm through the empty armhole. He fell into the driver's seat to find the keys already in the ignition. Sam started up the car and pulled out.

"Where?"

Dean had that faraway look again. "Head west. There's a neighborhood about five miles from here, on the right side of the road. Turn in at the big oak beside a tall brick wall."

Sam nodded to himself. He knew the area Dean wanted. The Chevy growled as Sam put his foot down, as if the car were as anxious as Dean. Hell, it probably was. Sam knew it ran better around Dean, sometimes so silky smooth he had to really listen to hear if the engine were running, and sometimes with a roar like now, putting Dean's emotions on display. Whatever it was this time was bad.

Sam took the turn at a higher speed than he should have, but the big car hugged the curve as if it had been made for racing.

"Straight!" Dean shouted over the engine noise. "White house!"

Sam slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt. He snatched his sneakers as he threw his door open. Dean was halfway across the lawn before Sam rounded the front of the car.

"Hey!" Dean shouted in a voice sure to wake the neighbors. "Hey, moron! Get off the roof!"

Sam's eyes searched the night, aided by the streetlights, to find a small figure huddled on top of the roof.

"You!" Dean pointed a finger as he yelled. "Go inside! It isn't safe up there!"

The person on the roof waved a single finger at Dean, and it wasn't complimentary. Sam felt Dean's anxiety and irritation double.

"Probably ought to leave the airhead up there," Sam heard his brother mumble.

"Dean," Sam hissed, "just go knock on the door. The kid's parents can take care of it."

Dean shook his head, staring straight up. "You do it, Sam. There's something really wrong with the roof."

Sam, still carrying his shoes, headed for the front door. As he approached the porch light flickered on and the door opened.

"Can I help you?" A lanky man demanded. "What are you people doing in my yard?"

"Sir," Sam said, hopefully cutting off the beginning of a tirade, "my brother and I were driving by when we noticed someone on your roof. Could it be one of your children?"

The man frowned as he stepped outside. "Not again. Lizzie!" He walked slowly to stand beside Dean. "Lizzie, we talked about this. Now you have strangers coming to the house. Go inside. Now!"

The huddled mass on the roofline moved. She stood slowly, her face illuminated by the streetlight. Now Sam could see Lizzie was a young girl, probably not even a teen, with frizzy dark hair and a scowl.

"Don't move!" Dean ordered. "One more step and you'll fall through." The girl on the roof shot him the finger again, her foot raised in the air. "Freeze!"

"Hey pal," the man shoved Dean in the shoulder. Sam thought that showed pretty poor judgment. "Back off, she's going inside."

Dean turned his head to reveal that his eyes had an angry glow. "And I'm trying to save her life," he growled, "so keep your nose out of it."

His brother looked up again. "Lizzie, listen to me." Dean's voice was as smooth as when he picked up women in a bar and he held both hands up to show he wasn't a threat. "There's a weak point in the roof, right in front of your foot. Can you see how it's kind of dipping down?"

The girl's arms stretched out as she balanced. One foot ran along the top of the roof in the dark. "It does dip down and it's kind of big."

"Okay, uh, just stand there. Don't move." Dean turned around to face the father again. "Tell me you have a ladder."

"Uh, what? A ladder?" He shook his head, as if he needed to clear it. "Yeah. Um, in the garage."

"Sam!"

"On it." Sam raced through the unlocked front door. Finding the garage did not take as long as finding the freaking light switch. Fortunately they had an electric garage door opener, so while the door rose Sam could search for a ladder. It was behind the lawnmower leaning against the far wall. Yeah, great place. Sam wrestled it out, knocking some old paint cans over and a bucket full of bolts, screws and crap. He hefted it over his shoulder to head back out front. It looked like the girl had not moved.

Sam set up the ladder. As his foot mounted the first step, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

"No, Sam. This is my job," Dean said gently.

Sam shook off the hand, hurrying up the ladder to save the girl. His brother might break his back, again, if the girl was too heavy or if he slipped coming back down the ladder, or something. He couldn't risk it. Sam scooped the girl up in one arm. Holding her on the ladder, Sam reached out with one hand to tap on the roof about an inch in front of where the girl had been standing.

The dip in the roof shuddered before falling in, taking over a quarter of the roof with it. Sam let out a whistle as his ladder shook from the impact.

"Sam!"

The girl gasped, arms wrapped tight enough around Sam's neck to make breathing difficult. Sam wasn't worried, however. That was his brother standing below, holding the ladder. He and the girl were perfectly safe. Sam brought them slowly down, taking care to position the center of his foot on each step. When he reached the ground the father wrenched the girl away from him to hold her close.

"Probably past time to have that roof checked," Dean said as he steered Sam away. As they crossed the damp lawn, Sam realized he was still shoeless.

"Hey mister!" the father shouted from behind them. "Are these yours?"

Sam turned around. The man held out Sam's sneakers. He gave his brother a sheepish grin as he headed back to retrieve his shoes. Sam reached out to take them, but the man held fast.

"How did you know?" he asked in a soft voice. "What, uh, what are you people?"

Sam shrugged as he pulled his shoes from the other man's grasp. "Just trying to help. And for the record, shoving people whose eyes glow isn't a healthy pastime." Sam turned his back on the girl and her father.

He was beside the car and opening the driver's door when he heard the man call out, "Thanks! Thank you!"

Sam found Dean studying him curiously when he slid behind the wheel. "What?" he asked as he fired up the car. Its soft smooth purr sounded pleased and content.

"What was that?" Dean asked. "You tell him to thank me?"

"What? No." Sam snorted. "I just advised him not to try getting physical with people who can slam him into the next eternity, that's all."

Dean's right eyebrow went up. "And he still thanked you?"

"Us," Sam corrected. "He thanked us."

"Uh-huh." Dean's head shook from side to side. "You're really something, Sam."

Sam grinned. "That's because I have an awesome big brother."

The gentle slap to his shoulder was expected. Some things never changed.


	41. Chapter 41: Dog Days

Greetings, Oddballs! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Thanks again for all the encouragement on this left-field fic. Thanks as always to my theological adviser and editor, _**charis-kalos**_, who exercised her editing powers on this chapter, and made it make sense! (Gee, where was she about 20 chapters ago? lol)

**Chapter 41 Dog Days**

Bela watched the Impala pull up in front of Singer's house. The boys stepped out of the car as casually as if they normally raced out in the dead of night. Well, what did she know? Maybe they did. Maybe they had ghost alarms they responded to.

She snorted back a giggle. Ghost alarms. That was a good one. Oh, God, she needed some sleep.

Her plan had already been put into action, but she probably wouldn't see any results until late morning. Plenty of time for sleep. Bela allowed her eyes to close and stay closed. Her mind continued to race, large numbers dancing in her vision, until she slipped into a blissful slumber filled with dreams of large houses, yachts, and pretentious yippie little dogs.

* * *

Hillary had waited impatiently for her boys to return. Now they waltzed through the front door, not even bothering to glance at her or apologize for taking off like that. She followed them up the stairs to their room. They were talking softly to each other and still hadn't so much as scratched her on the head. She sat by the door as they collapsed into the two beds. They forgot about her?

Distraught, Hillary waited until she heard the even sounds of humans sleeping. Satisfied her boys were sound asleep, she went back downstairs. She tried to open the front door, but she couldn't. Why didn't dogs have thumbs? She put her mouth on the doorknob, but couldn't turn the knob. Her teeth kept slipping on the smooth metal.

Disgusted, she removed her mouth and shook off the extra drool. Great, how was she supposed to get outside? Hillary stalked through the house searching for a way out. She found the door in the kitchen, but it was closed too. That did it.

Hillary headed back to the main room. She eyed the window in the front, the one she could see the car through. Decision made, Hillary bounded across the room, vaulted off the couch and through the window. She really hadn't thought that breaking the window would hurt, but it did. Hillary landed on the ground outside slightly dazed, her breath stolen by the impact. When she could breathe again, she shook herself off. Hillary stalked over to the car. Her boys were not leaving her behind again.

With a massive leap, she landed on top of the car hood. Hillary stretched out, claiming it as her own. Now they had to notice her. God, her head hurt. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to force herself to sleep and hoping the pain would go away.

When she felt warmer, Hillary opened her eyes. The sun was up, visible over the house, and the car felt warm under her. The big dog grunted as she stretched, rolling to her other side. Even her head felt better now.

"Hey!" It was one of her boys. Hillary lifted her head for a better look. Oh, her favorite!

"What are you doing on my car?" he demanded as he rushed toward her. She let her tongue loll out as she eyed him. This was working out really well.

"Hillary," he said in a warning voice.

She grunted her displeasure at being left behind all the time. Hillary had no intention of moving off this car until he agreed to take her along. Each time her boys left, she worried they might not come back for her.

He rubbed a hand down his face. "Frigging dog," he mumbled.

She grumbled at him. Dogs had much better hearing than humans so she heard him perfectly, and she did not appreciate the comment.

He rolled his eyes at her. "So what? You're staking out my car until I agree to take you with us?"

Hillary grumbled again, this time in agreement.

He sighed. "Well, if you're going to be riding in my car, I need something to put over the backseat."

She lifted her head to stare at him. Why would he need to cover the backseat?

"So you don't accidentally rip the seat and to make it easier to get the fur out," he told her gently. "You're still a dog, you know."

She snorted at him. Of course she was still a dog! What else would she be? Didn't he want her to be a dog?

Strong fingers scratched her head, moved around to her ears. Oh, yeah. Hillary melted under his touch.

"What's going on, Dean?" the voice of her other boy asked.

"Hillary feels neglected," he said, rubbing her neck. That felt so good. She rolled on to her back, legs sticking up in the air. Maybe her other boy would join in with a nice belly rub; he was really good at those.

"Why? Because we keep taking off in the car without her?" Those talented fingers massaged her belly. Yes! This was the life.

"I guess," her boy who always smelled of food said, both hands rubbing her head. "She better not have scratched the paint."

Her boy who had the musty smell of books snorted. "Yeah, like you'd do anything to her for it."

"I didn't say that!" Food-boy snapped. "I just said she better not scratch the paint."

Hillary stayed perfectly still, soaking up all the attention.

Food-boy looked at Book-boy. "You think there's a pet store in town?"

"What for, Dean?" Book-boy asked.

Food-boy's hands moved down to her neck again. When he reached a certain spot, Hillary found her right back leg twitching. The scratching on her neck increased, and her leg sped up to match. He chuckled. "We need something to protect the backseat."

"I'm sure Bobby has an old blanket we can use," Book-boy suggested.

Blanket? She knew where the perfect blanket was, but not right now. Right now she was occupied.

* * *

Bobby listened, but the house was silent. He could have sworn he heard voices a minute ago. After pulling on his pants, Bobby looked around the downstairs. It was empty and nearly silent, voices carrying clearly inside as though a window were open. Then Bobby noticed the gaping hole in his front window, the one which used to have glass. He rushed to pull on the boots that were standing by the front door before really checking it out.

The front window was shattered, from the inside. Most of the glass covered the ground just outside the house, like somebody took a baseball bat to it. "What the hell," he muttered to himself, leaning out the busted window.

The voices finally caught his attention. Dean and Sam were petting Hillary, who was spread across the hood of the Impala. Judging by the size of this hole and the fact there was no way Dean would just allow anything, much less a huge dog, to jump up on his car like that, Bobby was pretty sure he knew what happened.

"That stupid dog all right?" he called out.

Dean and Sam both spun around.

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded.

Bobby waved around him at the broken glass. "How do you think she got out?"

Sam's jaw dropped and Dean's eyes flared bright green.

"Hillary," Dean growled as he turned slowly to face the dog. "You busted the window?"

Dog noises, grunts and half-growls, reached Bobby's ears.

"That's no excuse!" Dean snapped harshly. Hillary curled up. "You could've really hurt yourself. Sam, help me check her for cuts."

"After that you can both clean up this mess, since your dog caused it," Bobby told them.

Dean's head turned to regard him for a moment before nodding in agreement. The transfer of dog ownership was official now. Besides, having a dog who didn't seem to care much for archangels did not exactly appeal to Bobby. He needed an anti-demon dog, period. Dean could protect the stupid dog better than he could now anyway.

* * *

Daniel checked the Cardinal's breakfast, even sampling it to be certain nothing tasted odd. Of course, here no one had ever heard of their order so there was no real reason to be so paranoid, yet Daniel performed all of his usual duties. If any of the larger, official, church organizations caught wind of their location before an angel could be procured, well, it wouldn't be good. That much was certain.

He still did not understand why their order had to be so secretive, but it was not his place to know such things. The Cardinal was in a better position to think. It was Daniel's duty to serve. Once, when he was a boy, he had been bold enough to ask why they could not speak the name of their order. To this day he carried the scars on his forearms proudly, a reminder of his duty and of lines not to be crossed.

When the Cardinal shuffled from his room clad in nothing but his favorite white bathrobe, Daniel hurried to help the old man sit down to his breakfast. He laid a napkin across his master's lap and held up a fork until the old man took it from his hand.

"Daniel, do you have any idea what finding Michael will mean for us?" the Cardinal asked in his soft, trembling voice. Daniel often had to strain to hear his master speak.

He knew an answer was not needed, it was not his place to know such things, so Daniel continued about his morning business. He flipped through the morning paper, searching for articles of interest. When he found one, he took that page out and folded it so the article was on top.

"It will mean validation. Acceptance." Light reflected off the fork as the Cardinal waved it excitedly in the air. His eyes shone with rare energy. "Even His Holiness the Pope," the old man wrinkled his nose in disdain, "will be forced to recognize our order."

Daniel nodded dumbly. He had heard this speech before, though perhaps not with so much fervor. As the Cardinal smacked loudly over his fresh fruit, Daniel hoped this Bela woman did not let them down. He hated what had to happen to those who had failed their order and for it to happen to a woman, well, it was something he would prefer not to witness.

* * *

Ruby skirted along the edge of Singer's salvage yard. She knew her former mistress was near, could sense the demon's presence. After much deliberation, Ruby had decided she could not pass up the opportunity of watching the demon who caused her to sell her soul be destroyed. She always did have trouble passing up temptation, hence her current state, so why not enjoy it if she could? And if it made the world a slightly better place in the meantime, well, so much the better.

A tow truck not belonging to Singer drove down the road. She watched it with interest, expecting a certain demon to be inhabiting the body of the driver, but he was completely human. What the hell was happening now?

Cautiously Ruby followed the truck inside the salvage yard. He pulled up to Dean's car, the beloved Impala, the one rumored among demons to mean more to Dean than his own life. The driver checked his clipboard, nodded, squinted out the window at the house number and nodded again. He opened his door. With a sickening lurch in her stomach, Ruby realized this man intended to tow the car. If he took Dean's car, Dean and Sam would go looking for it and possibly plan revenge on whoever or whatever planned this tow. They might not even be at the house when the demon came. This could not be allowed.

Ruby rushed to the front door to bang on it loudly. She couldn't enter, not without permission, Singer had too many wards in place for that. The front window was busted, a few shards of glass on the ground reflecting the late morning sun. Had the demon already attacked? Had she missed it?

"Yeah, we're coming already!" Dean's voice boomed through the yard. Relieved by the fact Dean was still alive so her plans were not wasted, she beat on the door again as the repo guy rushed to hook up the Impala.

"Where's the fire?" he demanded as the door swung open.

Ruby jumped aside, hoping he wouldn't recognize her. "You car," she blurted. His attention instantly diverted to the immediate problem.

She was about to let out a sigh of relief as Dean raced to the truck when she heard a low growl. The big-ass mutt stood just inside the doorway and Ruby could swear that dog's eyes had a faint glow, not unlike Dean's.

"She doesn't like you either," Sam stated. He seemed different from their other meetings, colder and more distant. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw somebody coming to tow that stupid black car and decided to let you know. You could thank me," she replied testily.

Sam's eyebrows dipped down, drawing together and wrinkling the skin. He would have age lines before he was thirty, she'd bet on it. "And you just happened to be passing by? And just happened to notice?"

Both were really, really good points. "Yes," she snapped, hoping her hostility would cover the lie.

"Yeah, right." Sam snorted. "What now, Ruby? Are you planning a surprise party and need some extra guests?"

The surprise party comment wasn't actually that far off the mark. Ruby snorted at him. "Fine, don't thank me. I'll be leaving now." She turned on her heel to stalk off when she felt the presence of her former mistress. Crap!

Ruby paused, glancing around. Where was she? "Sam?" she hissed.

He moved beside her, though she noticed he didn't come too close. "What?"

"Company," she whispered. "Not the good kind."

"You are not towing my car!" Dean shouted as thunder rolled in the air. Ruby glanced up at the clouds, not surprised she did not see any sign of rain in the white fluffy things.

A car pulled into the drive just behind the tow truck. The woman inside stepped out, smiling in a way Ruby remembered all too well. "That's her," she whispered as she tried to slink back, out of sight.

Sam strode forward, toward his brother instead of the demon. What was he doing now? She'd always heard how unstable the older Winchesters were, why weren't there any stories like that about the youngest? So far, Sam was the one who bothered her the most. With Dean Ruby knew exactly where she stood, but Sam kept her guessing.

The false smile from her former mistress told Ruby she had been spotted. Crap. Perhaps it was not as bad as she feared, perhaps the other demon assumed she was here to help. The smile warped into a nasty sneer and Ruby could see she had been made. Double crap. No point in hiding now. Ruby moved to stand with the Winchesters.

Her old mistress walked by the car, clearly heading for the tow truck, for them. This particular demon did not care for insubordination, Ruby knew all too well. Knowing the highest priority target had to be Sam, Ruby eased herself between him and the approaching demon.

"Why?" Dean roared at the driver. "Because this is bullshit, that's why! It's my car, has been since I was fourteen!"

The repo guy stood up to him. "You can't even get a driver's license at fourteen."

Dean stepped closer to the overweight man. "I didn't say I was legal, I said it was mine." His low growl vibrated through the yard. "And if you lay one finger on it, I'll make sure you regret being born."

"Excuse me?" Ruby's former mistress stepped between the arguing men. "You're Dean, aren't you?"

"In a minute," Dean snapped, waving her off. He pressed a finger into the tow truck driver's chest. "Leave. Now."

"Bill?" Bobby Singer's voice bounced around the yard. "Bill Gardner, is that you?"

Dean took a step back, watching Bobby. The demon behind Dean cleared her throat.

"Bobby, you got this?" Dean asked, gesturing to the tow truck.

"He's a colleague. I'll handle it," Bobby said as he stepped through the front door.

Ruby kept her borrowed body between Sam and the demon after him. She watched Dean approach her old mistress. The air felt charged with electricity. The closer Dean came to the demon, the more the hairs on her arms and neck stiffened. She didn't know if it was the charge in the air, or pure anticipation.

* * *

Dean was in a seriously pissy mood, not that he'd admit it, at least not in those words. First the dog, his frigging dog (and wasn't that just a kick in the ass?), felt so left out she jumped through a window in order to stake out his car all night. Stupid mutt was lucky she didn't cut a major artery and bleed out. Now he owed Bobby a new window and a new dog. Then there was his brother, the demon magnet, talking deals with demons behind his back. Sam was about to be put on trial in an angel court and Dean honestly didn't know if he could protect Sam from the outcome. Bela was after his amulet. A demon named Ruby, who had some freaky personal interest in Sam, was standing about a foot from his little brother right now, and another demon just arrived. Feeling seriously pissy, Dean decided.

"Can I help you?" he demanded of the woman. He could see the horror of the woman being possessed, and the demon writhing just below the surface. It stretched, trying to get a better look at him. Dean gave her a smile, wondering what she might make of him.

"I'm looking for Sam Winchester," she said, her eyes darting behind him to Sam. Bold bitch.

"He's not available," Dean said as pleasantly as he could, despite the fact he wanted to rip her right out of the body she wore and send her straight to hell, do not pass Go, do not collect a hundred dollars. "Will I do?"

The demon snarled at him from within the possessed woman. He broadened his smile though his irritation doubled. There was no warning when the first lightning bolt struck, causing a cascade of sparks to his left, just behind her. He felt the next one coming and let it fly, encouraging it to strike anything it didn't like. Lightning rained down on Bobby's place, Dean making certain nothing actually struck the house. Lots of stuff out in the salvage yard had an electrical overload with sparks shooting out everywhere, like the Fourth of July.

Awesome.

Dean brushed charred bits off his shoulders and sleeves. The demon's black eyes narrowed on him. "What are you?" she demanded.

"The last thing you're gonna see topside, bitch." Dean grinned at her. "Oh, by the way..." He leaned in real close. "Christo."

This close it worked more on the actual demon than the host. He felt the word slam into the demon, temporarily dislodging her from the woman but only for a split second. It was more than enough. Exorcism rituals he used to just be able to read, not understand, appeared in his mind's eye and flowed from his lips as if he were Sam. He guessed they had a little more punch coming from him these days though, because the demon shrieked painfully, shattering car windows as it was forced from the woman. He watched it try to cling to human flesh, causing rips and tears in internal organs. Dean sped up his recitation, forcing it to retreat faster. The woman collapsed into his arms as black demon smoke swirled straight down through the hard ground.

"Mike!" he shouted at the sky, lowering the woman to the ground. "Mike, I need you!"


	42. Chapter 42:Free Will

Yes, an actual and for real update! Hurrah!! My theological consultant and editor said to tell you all the delay was entirely her fault. It wasn't, but she said to tell you that so I did.

(shrugs)

Editors. Strange lot. Gotta keep 'em happy, though.

_edited to fix inconsistencies after Ch43 was posted - whoops!!_

**Chapter 42: Free Will**

Bela slapped her computer monitor in frustration. She had already tried unplugging everything and plugging it all back in and rebooting the computer about four times. Nothing. It was as though all the cameras had gone out at once. Yeah, right. It was more likely a problem with the feed, since all the cameras broadcast to the same relay before the signal was routed to her here. There had to be an issue with the relay. Stupid, cheap parts.

With a sigh of resignation, Bela realized she would have to go back to Singer's and check on the feed from the cameras. Great. As she headed for the door, she decided to pick up about a pound of hamburger on the way. If the dog could be distracted, she might be able to get in and out without anyone noticing.

She tried not to look in a hurry as she headed into the grocery story. Struck with an inspiration, Bela called the towing company she had contacted about Dean's car. If she could get an eyewitness account of the angel, it might go some way to convincing her buyer. At the very least, the buyer might agree to come out to see for himself, since her cameras were out. On the other hand, if they hadn't tried to tow the car yet, she might still have time to get her hard evidence.

"What? Lady, do you have any idea whose car that was?" the voice on the other end demanded.

"Yes," she replied stiffly, "my soon to be ex-husband's. It's in my name; I gave you copies of the title paperwork. Wasn't that good enough for you?"

"It might have been," the man replied slowly, "if you hadn't tried it with one of Bobby Singer's nephews. I've know Bobby going on twenty years, and I trust his word a hell of a lot more than your papers, lady. I suggest you don't call this number again. Oh, and one more thing."

Bela grit her teeth as she snagged a two pound package of ground beef. It was a very large dog.

"What?" she huffed out.

"I've already called every other towing company in town to warn them about you. I don't know what your game is or what you have against Bobby's nephews, but you're not using us to do it."

She glared at the cell phone flashing the message her call had ended. Minor setback, that's all it was. Bela headed over to the pharmacy aisle. There had to be some type of over-the-counter sleep aids. She wanted to be sure the monster mutt couldn't chase her off this time.

* * *

"Mike!" Dean's voice echoed throughout the valley below.

"Later, Ralph," his best friend said with a wave. Michael faded from sight leaving Raphael standing on the mountain alone. Well, it was bound to happen. Michael was responding to someone else's calls the way he had always responded to Raphael's.

Just because he had seen it coming didn't make it sting any less. Well, he had work to do too.

Raphael had been keeping an eye on certain demons, ones which could really cause nasty trouble for humans. He scanned for the potential trouble-makers and found one missing. Surprised, Raphael did a second, more thorough search. Still missing one.

Strange.

Was the demon hiding? If so, its plans could be in motion and this was an attempt to escape detection. Raphael performed one more thorough search. Still nothing. Time to consult Gabriel.

"Gabriel, do you have a moment to spare?" he asked of the air around him.

The space next to him shimmered with an unearthly radiance. "You two have another meteor shower?" she asked in a condescending voice. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"

"How about if we invite you next time?" Raphael offered, wondering if she could bring herself to accept such an offer.

Gabriel rolled her eyes. "Mike," she emphasized the nickname, "wouldn't hear of it. He's afraid I can throw better than he can."

"I could use your help," Raphael told her earnestly, partly because it was true and partly to change the topic.

"What is it?" Gabriel's eyes locked with his.

"There's a demon missing, a powerful one. I fear its plans," Raphael admitted.

"Which one?" Gabriel asked, her eyes flashing with her usual intensity when discussing demons. He knew she'd like a dragon, for old time's sake, but it was a different world now.

"Lilith." Raphael waited for her reaction.

Gabriel's face darkened and her eyes glowed bright. "Well," she said at last, "that isn't good. Especially with the trial. The three of us will be in court for days, maybe weeks. Any ideas?"

Raphael shook his head. "But I did have an idea about the trial."

She motioned for him to continue.

"The dog," he suggested. "Why don't you use the dog as a witness?"

Gabriel gave him the oddest look. "The dog who hates me? That dog?"

Raphael nodded.

"Rafe, you've been hanging out with humans too long. Why would I do that?" Gabriel stood in a very human manner, with her feet set apart and her hands on her hips, eyes daring him to explain himself.

"It's nearly impossible for dogs to lie," he reminded her, "especially in court. Dean bonded the dog with his brother, not himself, which would go a long way to show just how respected and loved Sam is."

"Character witness?" Gabriel asked thoughtfully. "I could do that. We could certainly use some good character witnesses. I've interviewed a few hunters, but I don't think they'd be good in court."

"No?" Raphael studied her for a moment. "Why not? Demon hunters usually have sway with the council."

Gabriel shook her head. "Not this lot. I wouldn't wish them on a higher level demon, assuming they could trap one. Most of them would torture it for information, like they could trust anything it had to say. Plus, they all think the Winchesters are completely unstable, despite the respect they claim to have for the family."

"Any basis for that?" Raphael asked.

"Sure," she said with a shrug, "but when it's taken out of context, and I suspect all of the stories I heard were, it can make anybody look bad. Especially Dean."

Raphael blew out a long breath. "Great. And I assume he's the basis for your defense?"

Gabriel nodded.

"So you can't bring in outside witnesses because they'll make Dean look bad, which in turn makes Sam look bad. But you can't make Sam look good without outside witnesses." Raphael massaged his forehead with one hand. "You two just had to push it this far, didn't you?"

"Hey, don't blame all this on me!" Gabriel snapped. "I'm doing the best I can here!"

Raphael held both hands up in surrender. "I didn't say you," he stated firmly. "I said you TWO. You know full well if you can't resolve your issues yourself, the council will put them on trial and force you to seek resolution."

"I know," she sighed in resignation. "I know, Rafe. And you're right, Michael and I are both to blame." She held up one finger. "But if he hadn't pushed Dean so far..."

"Yes, but he did, and Dean was able to stand up to him. I doubt any of us could have foreseen that. Now we all must live with the consequences, especially the Winchesters." Raphael stared her in the eye.

Gabriel chewed her lower lip, a nervous habit picked up over the last few centuries. The fact all of them had developed similar nervous habits showed the added stress such a large human population caused their kind.

"I'll speak with the dog," she promised before turning away. "And I'll keep an eye out for Lilith."

Gabriel might not have acknowledged his point, but he knew she would be thinking about it. It was the most Raphael could ask of her. For now, he had a demon to track.

* * *

Mike found Dean hunched over a woman's body, his hands glowing as he attempted to heal her. He could see the massive internal damage the closer he came. She was probably a lost cause already.

"Dean," Mike said softly as he knelt beside them, "what happened?"

Dean's bright glowing green eyes met his. There was even a luminescent glow to Dean's skin from his efforts with the woman. "My fault," he huffed. "Demon."

Mike shook his head as he placed his hands beside Dean's, adding his efforts. Dean had either forced the demon out too slow or too fast; either could cause irreparable damage. Their efforts were probably futile.

"Come on," Dean growled, "come on."

To appease Dean, Mike poured more energy into the woman despite the fact he could feel her weakening.

"Dean," he whispered, hoping his voice was low enough for their audience of Sam and Bobby not to hear, "there's a lot of damage. Even we can't fix everything."

Dean's head gave a sharp shake. "My fault," he insisted. "She's not dying, not today." He looked at the woman's slack face. "Come on, lady! Fight! You can do this! Fight!"

Mike was about to tell Dean the place she was headed for wasn't bad, it was her reward. He wanted to mention all of them screwed up sometimes, and the demon would have killed her anyway. He wanted to say all those things, but as he gazed at her face Mike was overcome with desperation for this woman to live. If she died, it would be a horrific tragedy and it would be his fault. Concentrating harder, Mike pumped more healing energy into her liver, spleen and heart. He sensed Dean's light diverting to heal her lungs and small internal rips and tears.

"Fight!" Dean barked, his anxiety bleeding through his voice.

The woman's eyelids fluttered, but they weren't out of the woods yet. Mike poured more energy on; knowing Dean beside him was doing the same. Then he noticed a difference, a sensation he could not identify.

"That's it," Dean said to her, "keep it up. Fight."

Fight? Mike studied the interaction between Dean and the woman below them. She was hanging on by sheer will, he realized. This was what all the talk of 'human will' was about. Under his hands the woman shifted, more movement with each passing second. Her chest moved, taking one breath after another. Her eyes opened, staring blankly. She blinked and her gaze landed on them.

"Thanks," she whispered. She focused on Dean. "For everything."

Dean gave her a warm, kind smile. "Sure," he replied, as if he did this kind of thing everyday. He refused to allow her to sit up. "You still need a hospital," he told her. "Bobby?"

Mike silently agreed as Bobby rushed into the house to call an ambulance. Sam and the dog sat down on the woman's other side.

"You're going to be fine now," Sam assured her.

"What was it?" she asked in a shaking voice. "What happened?"

Mike passed a hand over her eyes. "Nothing you need to remember," he whispered as he wiped her memory of the past day, just to be safe.

"You've been in an accident," Sam explained gently as she blinked wide, confused eyes at them. Mike had to admit, Sam was pretty sharp; he caught on instantly. "We're calling an ambulance for you. Just lie still, okay?"

"Nice," Dean whispered. "We got it from here if, you know, you have something better to do."

Dean's face was drawn and pale; he shouldn't be undertaking anything strenuous. Not for a while. "Nah," Mike assured him, "I'm good. Ralph and I were having a meteor shower, nothing pressing."

Dean chuckled. "I always figured you for playing with rocks."

"On their way!" Bobby's voice announced loudly as he jogged back to them. He loomed over Dean's still bent form. "Ma'am? How're you feeling?"

She motioned to the side. "Is that a dog?"

Dean's face relaxed as his eyes landed on Hillary. The huge dog watched over him protectively. "Yeah, but don't remind her." He leaned in closer to whisper, "She's been trying to convince us to let her sit at the table."

The woman giggled until her face twisted with pain. "Don't," she whispered urgently. "It hurts."

Sam smiled at her with such a gentle expression, Mike couldn't imagine what Azazel thought the boy would do for him. According to the demon's plan, Sam was to be responsible for bringing about hell on Earth. Azazel might have been evil through and through, but insane? Actually, insanity would explain more than just a few things. He would have to remember to bring it up with Ralph later. There had to be a way out of the apology he owed Gabriel now, since she was right about Azazel.

Mike chose to stay back with Dean, out of the way, when the ambulance arrived. Sam and Bobby did most of the talking, which was fortunate since they could tell innocent-sounding lies to put the paramedics at ease.

"You should lie down," Mike advised Dean, out of earshot of the others. Dean gave him a nasty look. "Hey," Mike held up a hand to ward off the rant he could see building, "I know what that took out of you. By all rights that woman should be headed for the morgue, not a warm hospital bed."

"Warm?" One eyebrow shifted up Dean's brow. "Dude, have you ever been in a hospital?"

Mike stared back. "Did you honestly just ask me that?"

Dean's mouth quirked up in a grin. "Yeah, never mind." He leaned back against the outer wall of Singer's house. "Bobby's is one of my favorite places." He shrugged against the wall.

"What's bugging you?" Mike asked, mimicking Dean's pose. For Dean to just throw out a tidbit of personal information like that, there had to be a reason.

He sighed heavily, rolling his head back until it rested on the wall. "Sam's making me go to the doctor," he said with a groan.

"For your back?" Mike felt a surge of hope. "Does he think the doctor can do anything for our pain?"

Dean rolled his head to the side to regard Mike. "Our pain?" Sarcasm laced his words.

Mike flinched. "Well, sometimes it's our pain."

Dean sighed heavily. "Yeah, that's why I'm going. Otherwise Sam and I would be hitting the road."

"Even with the trial coming up?" Mike asked.

Dean shrugged. "Will it matter where we are?"

"No," Mike replied. He wanted to ask if Dean was really only going because of him, but he didn't want to hear the answer. No matter how Dean answered the question, Mike didn't want to hear it.

"Didn't think so," Dean replied. He nodded toward the ambulance. "What's going to happen to her?"

"No idea," Mike told him with a shrug. He smiled at Dean's confusion. "Free will," he explained, and for the first time Mike understood how much power that phrase held. Then he noticed the dog staring at them. "What's up with her?"

Dean snorted a chuckle. "She won't let me out of her sight. Something about being left behind too many times." He rolled his eyes skyward.

"Nobody likes being left out," Mike agreed. He held out his hand and Hillary promptly trotted over to have her head scratched. He rubbed the soft fur until he realized the dog was not relaxing or enjoying the treatment. Then he saw she had sat down between him and Dean, purposefully. He met Dean's eyes. "She's protecting you from me?"

The green eyes rolled again. "She has a mind of her own, Mike. Don't blame me."

His gaze shifted to Sam. "Your brother is in protective mode again, isn't he?"

"Again?" Dean's snort drew Mike's attention away from the paramedics loading the woman into the back of the ambulance. "Try still."

Sam headed for them as the ambulance drove away slowly, no lights or siren which meant they didn't consider her high risk. Good. Sam came within reach before pausing.

"Dean," he said in an authoritative voice, "you should go to bed."

"Sam..." Dean started to argue.

"You look like _hell_," Sam said slowly as Dean flinched from the word. "And if you don't, I can keep saying how you look like **hell**...again and again and..."

"Fine!" Dean snapped. "I'm going!"

Sam followed his brother into the house after throwing Mike a piercing look. He didn't plan on staying anyway. After checking over the salvage yard a couple of times, he'd leave. No problem.

* * *

Bela used the heel of her shoe against the trunk of her car to grind the sleeping pills down into small chunks. Then she peeled the plastic off the ground meat to sweep the white pieces and dust on it. With her nose wrinkled up in distaste, Bela used her bare hand to work the pills into the meat. Nasty, it was just plain nasty. She doubted she would be able to look a meatloaf in the eye again.

After taking a supply of wet-wipes with her, Bela walked quietly back into Singer's. She had to jump behind a rusting car to avoid being run over by an ambulance. Crap! What the hell happened? Who was inside? She hoped it wasn't Dean, that would ruin everything.

From her hiding place, crouched beside a rusting hulk, Bela watched as the ambulance pulled out on the road. She couldn't tell if any angels hovered in the air over it, so maybe Dean was not inside. Emboldened by the thought, Bela waved the air over her raw meat in an attempt to fill the yard with its (icky) enticing aroma. Just out of sight of the house, in the crevice created by two cars pressed together, she put the drugged hamburger. Strange, were those blond hairs on the junkers? She pulled out a strand. It was far too long to belong to Dean, but maybe he brought his skanky women back here. The thought sent a cold, sickening shiver down her spine. In a junkyard?

She hoped she would be able to find the hiding place for her drugged meat again in the dark, to check that the dog ate it, before checking on all her cameras. On the way out, she checked the relay. It was fried. Totally fried. It looked as though somebody had thrown it into a bar-b-que pit for about an hour, taken it out, run over it with a car, and tossed it back in the pit for another hour before putting it back. Terrific. There went about a grand down the drain. If the same thing happened to the rest of her cameras...

She sighed deeply. It was time to go shopping. Again. She'd probably have to tap one of her offshore accounts this time. Great. And her deadline for providing the proof was looming right over her head. Two more days, that was it, and so far her luck had been lousy. That was okay, Bela knew how to make her own luck. Beginning this evening, when she returned with replacement equipment, Bela would start making her luck work for her.

* * *

Lilith wanted to be certain she made an appropriate first impression on the young upstart Sam Winchester. Azazel had really been losing it near the end, to hand-pick such a loser human as the general for his demon army. Clearly she would have been a better choice. Ah, well. All is well that ends well. Azazel was gone and Lilith was here to step into the void he left behind.

If a human had to be chosen, Dean Winchester would have been a natural selection. Why Sam? Just because of the blood infection? Adult humans could be coerced with blood infection too; they just had a tendency to go stark raving mad. With the proper dosage, and oversight, it could have been done. Azazel was insane and lazy, Lilith decided, all demons were better off without him as their leader.

She called forth her finest hellhounds. With strict instructions to take a canine host the instant they arrived on the surface, Lilith ordered them to seek out and attack Sam Winchester.

Red eyes glowing with anticipation, her hounds swirled into demonic smoke as they left. Lilith smiled at their eager departure. Perhaps she needed a little time off, in some human skin, to watch the show. Her eyes glowed milky white at the thought and her smile broadened.


	43. Chapter 43:New Arrivals

Hey folks! Sorry for the delay. First I was sick, then my awesome editor _**charis-kalos **_has been sick (hope you're feeling better!), and I had to weather a monster of a hurricane. We're some of the _**very **_lucky ones, we have power, water, internet and now phone. There are literally millions without any of that. Some areas were literally scoured, wiping out entire communities. The damage estimates are in the neighborhood of 100 billion. (You can go to to see local pictures and articles.) When the calls go out for assistance, I hope you will all do what you can.

**Chapter 43 - New Arrivals**

Minor earthquakes around the globe caused graduate students to scramble around their seismic equipment and place excited calls to faculty advisors. In a half dozen locations the earth split open in long jagged cracks, dust spilling into the open sky. From each of those cracks thin wisps of black smoke emerged, coiling up from the dust. Any observer unlucky enough to see the emergence of these incorporeal hellhounds had their retinas burned from the inside out, leaving them stumbling blind with milk-white eyes in desolate areas.

The hellhounds searched for suitable hosts per their instructions. One by one they chose large muscular dogs, many with military or police training, and slipped away from their handlers in the dead of night.

They had one destination: Singer's Salvage.

They had one mission: Annihilation.

* * *

Hillary dragged her favorite sleeping blanket to the car. She eyed the open window, wondering if she could jump inside with her blanket.

"Don't even think about it," Book-boy's voice barked.

She froze, dropping her head. Busted. A squeak and creaking noises made her lift her head. Book-boy had opened the door for her? She gave him an inquisitive look.

"Dean would say you'd scratch the paint, but he's really worried you'll get hurt," he said, taking the blanket. "You're sure Bobby won't miss this?"

She snorted at him. Why would he miss it? It was hers.

Book-boy shook his head at her as he spread her blanket over the seat, tucking it in tightly. She eyed it warily, wondering if it would stay. Then a large warm hand was on her head, rubbing all around.

"I'm taking Dean up to see the doctor today, for his back," Book-boy told her. "You're going to have to stay here."

With a disgusted growl, she shot out from under his hand into the backseat. Hillary spread herself out, taking up every inch of space she could. She grumbled at Book-boy that she wasn't leaving, and he couldn't make her. He frowned and reached out a hand for her collar. Hillary lifted her head, bared her teeth and growled for all she was worth.

"Whoa!" he shouted, snatching his hand away. Book-boy glared at her for a long minute. "Ever heard about not biting the hand that feeds you?" he demanded.

She glared back. Food-boy always had something to eat.

"Yeah? Well, Dean's going to be the one feeding you from now on," Book-boy promised. He massaged the hand he had yanked back. She hadn't even snapped at him. Wimp.

Hillary rested her head on her front paws, watching Book-boy carefully. She doubted he had given up so easily.

"Forget it, Sam," Food-boy said through the open passenger window, "she's too much like you. She's not going to let this go." He opened the door and dropped down into the seat. "Let's get this crap over with."

Hillary panted in relief. She was going! Was going to the doctor anything like going to the Vet, she wondered. The big dog waited until they were safely on the road before sitting up. She hung her head over the front seat to nuzzle Food-boy's shoulder. He rubbed her muzzle absently as he stared out the window. She hoped it was just time for his shots and he wasn't going because he needed to be checked for worms.

* * *

Sam noticed Dean's apprehension increase the closer they came to the hospital, but he did his damnedest to ignore it. Dean needed to be checked out by a doctor. These so-called phantom pains couldn't be nothing, not if they completely incapacitated Dean. His heart-rate sped up just thinking about the way Dean had crashed to the ground in the park the other day.

A few deep breaths later and Sam felt he had himself under control. Hopefully. Even the car sounded funny, the engine grinding as they rounded the drive into the hospital parking lot. Sam found a shady spot to park, hoping it might appease Dean but his brother just stared out the window.

"Dean?" Sam asked gently. "We're here."

Dean shook his head, like he was coming out of a daze.

"Dude, are you okay?" Sam reached out to touch his brother's shoulder, but Dean waved him off.

"I'm fine, Sam," he said in a weary voice. "I just want this over with."

Dean opened his door, then stood there with it open. He jerked his head at the dog. She bounded out of the backseat to stand by the car, ready to go. Sam followed slowly, locking up the car behind them.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam motioned to the dog. "What are you doing?"

"Going to see the stupid doctor." Dean glared at him. "What else?"

"I meant Hillary," he said. "She can't go inside."

Dean looked down at the dog and a broad grin spread over his face. "Who's gonna stop her?" He chuckled. "On second thought, this might be fun. Let's go, Sam." Dean slapped his thigh as he set a fast pace for the hospital entrance. Hillary loped along at his side.

Unsure if the thigh slap was for him or the dog, Sam rushed to catch up. After the automatic doors admitted them, Dean and Hillary didn't even break pace as they made a bee-line for the elevators.

"Sir!"

Sam knew it couldn't be that easy.

"Sir!" A young man, probably a volunteer, raced to cut Dean off. "Excuse me, sir, but what is that animal doing here?"

Dean's head tilted to one side and his eyes took on a soft, warm glow. "She's fine," he said in a deep, resonant voice. "She's with me."

The man's stern face broke in a mindless grin. "Oh. Okay. Have a nice day, sir."

"Thank you," Dean replied in the same voice.

The man returned at a normal pace to the information desk as Sam watched. Stunned didn't even begin to cover how Sam felt at this moment.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam asked in a hushed voice. "What the hell was that?"

Dean's wince reminded him to watch his language – too late. "Well," Dean rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips, "you know how agreeable people are to Mike? I wondered if I could get it to work for me."

Sam turned around to look back at the volunteer, who was already helping a visitor and smiling broadly, Dean and his dog completely gone from the man's concerns. He shook a finger in the volunteer's direction. "Now that is something we can use."

Dean laughed as he spun Sam around to face the elevators. "So now you're finding perks?"

Sam gave his brother a grin. "Hey, when you've got enough lemons..."

Dean shook his head with another laugh. "It's time for some hard-core lemonade. Now you sound like Bobby."

They rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. Sam checked in with the nurse's station while Dean and Hillary found seats. Well, Dean sat down, and Hillary lay across his boots. Sam took a seat across from them, out of range of those teeth.

"What's wrong with you two?" Dean demanded.

Sam met his brother's eyes, fully ready to lie through his teeth if necessary. "What do you mean?"

Dean motioned between him and the dog. "You and Hillary. You won't even stand on the same side of me." He glared at the dog. "What happened?"

Sam, fully prepared to deny everything, opened his mouth to answer, but Hillary beat him to it. She made some whining noises, a couple of growls and grunts, then rolled over on her back with all her legs straight up in the air.

Dean sat back, staring unbelievably at both of them. "What are you, two? Hillary, go apologize for growling at Sam. Sam, pet her."

Hillary rolled to her stomach but she didn't move, just lying there and eying Sam. Dean stomped his boot. She crawled slowly across the floor toward Sam, stopping an inch from his shoe.

"Apologize," Dean said, and Sam heard the growl in his voice.

Hillary turned wide, pitiful eyes on Sam. Those huge brown eyes turned so wet, later he would swear he saw tears. A whine which conveyed sorrow and begged forgiveness rose from behind those riveting eyes. Sam swallowed hard before he reached out a tentative hand to rest on her head.

"Sam, tell her how you're not going to try to keep her from going with us again." As Sam started to protest, Dean held up a hand. "Doesn't matter where we're going."

"Fine," he said, returning his attention to the pitiful sight below his hand. "I won't try to make you get out of the car again. Happy?"

Hillary popped up to a sit, leaning her massive frame on his leg and her head across his lap.

"You know," a woman said on the other side of the room, "if I'd known dogs were allowed, I would've brought my Lizzie-baby."

"You're starting something," Sam whispered in his warning voice.

Dean waved a hand, blowing him off. As usual.

"Singer!" The nurse's voice rang out.

"And we're up," Dean groaned. As he stood Hillary leaped to her paws and stood beside Dean in a flash. He grinned at her, resting a hand on her head briefly before heading for the nurse's desk. Sam followed closely. They passed the front desk behind a set of double doors, where the nurse directed them into a waiting room. She started to ask about the dog, but Dean did The Voice again and she found Hillary sweet and charming. Hillary seemed to love the new attention.

When they were alone, Dean looked down at the dog. "You don't have to like the doctor," he said. "The guy is a jackass."

"One of the top experts in his field," Sam argued.

Dean's eyes did not move from the dog. "And he's stuck here why? Because he's a jackass."

Hillary gave a snort as she sat between Dean's feet. Possessive mutt. God, the dog could be annoying at times.

* * *

It scented the air using the drug dog's sensitive nose. There were plenty of human scents here and one dog. Had one of the others beaten it here? It gave a derisive sneeze as it entered Singer's Salvage. It doubted any of the young ones understood the tricks it used to reach the targets first. Those were the kinds of secrets which made it prized by Lilith above the others.

It felt good and strong in the husky German Shepard as they walked among the scents of rust and rotting fabric and poisons dripping from the abandoned cars. It sniffed again. A new scent, one which made its mouth water with anticipation, filtered through the others. Nose high in the air, it tracked the new scent.

A sound. Pointed ears rotated, the only muscles moving on its strong body. Human. Talking. Approaching.

"Now why in the world would those boys take the dog with them to the hospital?" The human stopped walking. "Nah, they're not that stupid. Hillary! C'mon! I got your breakfast!"

Breakfast. Its canine mind knew this word and more drool dripped from its open mouth. Death and Destruction could wait a few moments. No need to wreak havoc on an empty stomach.

It crept soundlessly from behind a rusting car, but too fast. The human calling for breakfast spotted it.

"Hey there, fella," he said softly. "You lost?" The human squatted in the dust, holding out a round bowl. He shoved it forward. "Come on. I won't hurt you."

First it would have breakfast and then for dessert, disemboweled human. It crept forward cautiously, wary for signs of deception. It smelled no fear from the human, and the contents of the bowl caused it to drool to an embarrassing degree. The human suspected nothing, it was certain. It continued its slow creep until it reached the bowl. Still keeping one eye on the human, it took a large mouthful of the food creating the intoxicating aroma. It lifted its regal head to swallow, and then its problems began.

First smoke shot from its nose, then a burning sensation in its throat. It spat viciously, trying to rid itself of the so-called breakfast. It hacked, desperately trying to dislodge the burning thing from its mouth and throat.

"Jesus!"

Angry, it turned on the human. For such a docile looking creature, he attacked with subtlety and without mercy. He raced for the house and it followed close behind, eyes watering, throat and mouth burning, smoke still pouring from its nose. It managed to slip through the slamming door, its tail barely missing being caught. They ran through the house, prey and predator. If only it had realized which one it actually was.

The human, panting heavily, grabbed a book. If it could have, it would have laughed. What could a book do against it? Snorting out more smoke, the burning in its throat had abated. It stepped toward the human who was about to die, in a very messy, bloody fashion. A string of entrails would dress this room up nicely. It stepped forward again.

But it couldn't. A second attempt proved there was something holding it in place, not allowing it to reach its target. Howling in frustration, it leapt at the human, but it was like hitting a solid wall, throwing it backwards. It landed on its back, feet useless in the air. Then the markings on the ceiling caught its eye. Canine eyes were not the best for viewing flat objects, like signs or painting, but the sigil on the ceiling was too familiar. Leaping to its feet, it roared its displeasure. It was the oldest! It was favored! It could not be trapped, not by a mere human!

The human's hands shook as he opened his book and began to read. It understood the words and felt its essence being pulled from the dog's body. No! It paced, threw its body again and again at the human, but to no avail. It had never been exorcised! It was favored! It would not go now.

The human left for a few minutes, allowing it to pace and plan. If it could break the sigil, it could escape. It eyed the ceiling again. But how to get up there?

The human returned with a bucket. It eyed the human, waiting for the new form of torture. The human threw a cup of the contents of the bucket at it. It burned! Everywhere it burned. The human threw cup after cup at it, then while it ran in circles, trying to avoid the torturous water, he started reading again.

Being favored was not worth this. Let the younger ones come here. It opened its canine mouth as the human read the exorcism ritual. It raced out, rushing for the safety of Hell.

* * *

Bobby stared down at the limp body of the German Shepard. He knelt carefully beside it, laying a tentative hand on its side. Holding his breath to remain perfectly still, he noticed the dog was breathing. If it was breathing, it had a chance.

"Guess what?" he whispered to the dog. "I'm gonna mix holy water in your food, too."


	44. Chapter 44:Turf War

**Chapter 44: Turf War**

They preferred to travel together. Two hellhounds were a better offense than just one. Now they traveled inside matching Rottweilers. Humans crossed to the other side of the street when they approached, and they liked it. They liked instilling fear without showing their true form. Though they enjoyed their soul retrieval duties, they found scaring humans not yet ready for Hell almost as amusing.

Fortunately, they had found the dog meatsuits close to Singer's Salvage. There the Winchesters awaited special attention. They scouted the perimeter, wondering who had already arrived. There were scents from other dogs, so they could not be the first. As young as they were, it was unlikely for them to arrive before the others. They did not scent blood, so perhaps they were not too late to join in the festivities.

They marched inside the salvage yard, alert and aware. Several other large, imposing dogs sat just outside the door of the house, including one who was probably an elder since they usually chose the noble-looking German Shepards. It seemed they were not last, but certainly not first. They walked all around the house, wondering why the others chose one place to wait. The wards in place on this home were strong, strong enough to make them wait a while longer. When they had all gathered here, they would overwhelm the defensive wards easily. Not even devil's bane could keep out a full pack of hellhounds.

Around the back of the house they scented something new. Still moving together, they tracked the new smell. Inside a crevice was a mound of the something which smelled so good. Curious, one tasted it. It _was_ good. They ate the mound quickly, before the others discovered it. How could the others be so lax as to miss such an obvious treat?

They finished circling the house to join the others outside the front door. So many humans had passed through the front door, its wards had worn to the point a few of them together should be able to break through. The elders might be able to pass the wards without help. The real problem would be that front door. If only a human were stupid enough to open it.

As they waited, they became very sleepy. The Rottweiler pair decided to lie down, to rest. The action had not started yet, there had been no fighting, there was no reason for them to be sleepy. However, their eyes were too tired to hold open any longer. As their eyelids became heavy, they heard the sounds of a vehicle approaching.

* * *

"I swear, Sam, I should've broken that guy's jaw," Food-boy continued the rant he had been on since leaving the hospital.

"Dean, you can't mean that," Book-boy argued.

"Why not?" Food-boy demanded, his eyes flaring bright green. Hillary hung her head over the front seat, drawn by the glow and emotions flowing through the car.

"Because he's trying to help," Book-boy replied calmly as he turned down the road toward home.

Food-boy snorted loudly. "Trying to help himself write a new paper," he said, acid dripping from his tones.

Hillary had the same feeling. "Well, even if it's true, if he can help it's worth it," Book-boy replied. Hillary could smell his anger rising.

Stubbornly, Food-boy crossed his arms over his chest and glared out the passenger window. Hillary could feel the instant Food-boy's head snapped forward, glowing eyes staring through the front windshield. "I don't like this," he growled.

"What is it?" Book-boy asked as the car slowed.

"Not sure yet," Food-boy said. "Stop outside of Bobby's."

Book-boy pulled off the road at the entrance to the salvage yard. Hillary stared at Food-boy as he stepped out of the car. Eyes still on the road home, he opened her door and motioned for her to come. Relieved, she jumped to the ground to take her position at his left side. They walked three abreast toward home, into the rust and oil smells. Now she also had the scent of other dogs and growled low in her throat to warn her boys.

"Yeah," Food-boy whispered, "I know."

Two others stepped out of the shadows of rusting metal to join them. Neither were threats according to Food-boy, even though Hillary still wasn't too sure about one of them.

"Know what you're dealing with, Dean?" Raphael asked in his low voice which rumbled like distant thunder.

"Something from down-under, and I don't mean Australia," Food-boy replied, voice hard and sure.

"Hellhounds," Michael interjected. "Hey, Ralph? You think we can play fetch with them?"

Hillary told Michael she would prefer to use them as the ball. Food-boy snapped his fingers in warning at her, so she kept the rest of her comments to herself. No stopping her from thinking about it, though. Book-boy ran a hand over her head, his touch telling her he felt pretty much the same way.

She shook out her fur, preparing herself for a good fight, when she smelled it. The scent sent her stomach to rumbling and she realized they left before she had had breakfast. And there were other dogs in there!

Hillary took off at a run, before any of the others had a chance to get it. She spotted her bowl way off to the left of the house. The other dogs seemed to be staying far from it. Good. It was hers! A low, threatening growl erupted when she saw someone had beaten her to it and taken a large mouthful.

"Hillary!" Food-boy shouted at her. "Get your furry ass back here!"

She eyed her competition fiercely, daring them to come between her and her bowl. One sat back on his haunches, tongue lolling, thin strands of drool dripping from his mouth. He seemed to be daring her to eat it. She lowered her head, eyes never leaving the other dogs, to take a bite.

Oh, YEAH!

This was better than steak! Shocked she would be given such a wonderful treat without having to work for it, Hillary dove to her task of eating it before the others could try to take it. The one with the tongue sat up straighter, his tongue darting back inside his powerful jaws, black eyes staring steadily at her. Gulping greedily, Hillary tried to get a good look at the others. Their eyes were also solid black. She had the funny feeling this wasn't a good thing.

"Hillary!" Food-boy barked louder.

Really, he of all humans should understand. This was food! Really, really, really good food. Best food she had ever had in her whole entire life. WOW! Hillary licked the bowl clean, eyes still on the other dogs who had formed a half-circle around her.

_Too late_ she smirked at them. A pleasant rush flowed through her, making her feel better and stronger. She studied the dogs watching her, sensing her humans and the angels approaching slowly. They were not just dogs, there was something controlling the dogs. The somethings Michael had called hellhounds and they looked like a shadow, just below the fur. Finished with breakfast, she tilted her head to the side, locking eyes with the one who had dared her to eat.

This one was the leader. This one wanted inside her home. This one wanted to hurt her boys.

This one was going to die.

Now.

Hillary took a slow step forward, her deepest, angriest growl rumbling slowly from her chest. As the growl made its way up into her throat she took another step toward the leader, baring her teeth. He cocked his head to one side as he rose to all fours. Her fur bristled, rising between her shoulders and all the way down the center of her back.

The others backed off. This was turf war, Alpha Dogs only.

She took another step, daring him to meet her in the middle. If she had to take two more steps like this, she was going to rush him, take him by surprise.

He shook himself, like he wasn't worried. He took a single step toward her.

Perfect.

Hillary let loose another low rumble, waiting for the right moment to bare her teeth. She panted softly, gathering herself for the fight. It was going to be all-out. Death-match. She could see it in his bottomless black eyes: no mercy.

He squared his massive shoulders. The body looked like a cop. Hopefully a drug dog, some of them were real pansies. Those bomb-sniffing hounds were crazy, no telling what he might do if he was one of those.

A high, piercing whistle split the air. Hillary knew it was one of her boys, trying to call her off, probably worried. Nothing doing. No freaking hellhound was moving in on her turf. She made sure to mark this whole place every night, and already she could smell that some of them had put some markers out. That was getting marked over today. End of discussion.

He took another step towards her, his fur standing up and a low growl coming her way. About time. Got to be a pansy drug dog.

Emboldened by the thought, Hillary let loose another ominous growl as she bared her teeth, upped the ante with a couple of good snarls and a half bark.

He took three steps closer to her, his mouth open in a snarl as he continued to growl. Hillary stood her ground. Any second now he was going to screw up, and then he was dead meat. She kept up her snarling growl, more promise than warning now. She could tell her boys were behind her, watching. They better not move any closer; this was going to get real ugly, real fast.

This so-called leader hellhound had to be a moron to pick a pansy-ass drug dog. Hillary said so in another snarling growl.

The hellhound promised to rip the flesh from Book-boy's bones while Food-boy watched.

Not in this lifetime.

As Hillary took one more slow step forward, he was now within her striking range. Her growl grew louder, angrier, and all the fur on her back stood straight up now. Teeth fully bared she panted quickly.

His mouth opened and he started to bark, stupid fool thought he was still far enough away. Using all her muscles, Hillary leapt for his throat. Mouth open, her teeth sunk into Sheppard fur which stunk of flea powder.

An Alpha hellhound picked a pansy-ass drug dog with fleas?

She clamped her jaws around the tender flesh, squeezing tight as she growled and snapped her head back and forth. Her body landed on his and they rolled in the dirt, snarling and growling. He tried to break free of her grip, but she was not about to give up her advantage. Hillary sunk her teeth in deeper, until she could taste blood. She scrambled around, trying to get a grip with her paws. Her feet slipped over his body until finally they hit dirt. Now she had traction, and the advantage.

Keeping part of her weight on him, Hillary planted her paws in the dirt. She squeezed her jaws tighter, growling low and hard. She knew that the real threat wasn't the pansy-ass drug dog, it was that shadow under the skin. She shook her head again, threatening to break the dog's neck if the shadow didn't leave.

It growled back that it didn't need a _live_ body, just a body. Hillary clamped down tighter, blood flowing down her jaws now. She growled about how difficult it would be to bite without a head. After all, a dog without a bite was just a foot warmer for humans.

The Sheppard started to howl and blackness came from its mouth. She did not release her grip, standing firm as the blackness swirled around them. The other dogs set up a similar howl, blackness spilling from their mouths too. Hillary stood her ground, growling heavily at the blackness that this was her home, her boys. Here she was Alpha. Here they could not come.

The blackness swirled together, like water in the indoor water fountain she kept getting into trouble for drinking. And just like the water, it went straight down. The ground under her shook as it split open, the blackness draining down into the crack. It closed up after the blackness was gone.

A human throat cleared from two or three leaps away. Hillary turned slightly until she could see Food-boy standing there with his arms folded over his chest.

"I think you can let go now," he said. "Bad guys are gone."

Hillary let out a whine. How could they know for sure it's safe?

A new whine caught her attention. It came from her jaws. The Sheppard whined again, wanting her to know she was illegally detaining a police officer.

She growled deep.

He went limp in her jaws with another whine. Drug sniffer. Valuable to the department, he claimed. Don't touch the nose.

Hillary opened her jaws, letting him drop to the ground. Pansy-ass. She gave him another growl for good measure. Her home.

"Easy, girl," Food-boy said, one hand rubbing her head. "Good job. Let us handle it now, okay? Want a steak?"

What she wanted was for these other dogs to get their scents out of her area. Or more of that food in her bowl? Hillary's back end wagged happily as Food-boy scratched her head more. Yeah, that was niiiice. Happy, she sat down by Food-boy's foot, leaning into his touch. One foot pumped at her side, bouncing up and down as he scratched harder. She barely noticed one of the angels kneeling over the pansy-ass drug sniffer, checking out his injuries. Was the angel really planning to heal the dog who'd challenged her?

"Relax," Food-boy growled at her. "It's not his fault his was possessed."

She rolled an eye up to look at him. Was he serious?

He shrugged at her, his hand moving down to scratch under her chin. "Okay, maybe it was a little bit. But it wasn't like he was in control when he picked a fight with you."

She blew hard out of her nose. Whatever.

Food-boy laughed at her as he knelt beside her. "Come on, let me check you out. Did you get hurt?"

Was he serious?

"Yes, I'm serious. You took on a frigging hellhound. Now lift your head, you might have a cut on your neck."

Hillary sighed as she allowed Food-boy to do whatever he wanted. Especially if he kept rubbing her fur like that.

"How is she?" Book-boy asked, his hand massaging one of her ears. Yeah, life was good.

"I think she's fine. Do you think we should have a vet check her out?" Food-boy asked.

Hillary growled again. She didn't have worms!

She heard the squeak which meant the front door was opening. Hillary yanked her head away from her boys to check on the door, make sure they were still safe. A human head poked out of the house.

"Well? You get rid of 'em?" It was the human who had so many smells, Hillary could only call him Bobby.

"Nope, Hillary did," Food-boy said proudly. Hillary let her tongue roll out of her mouth as she trotted by his side, headed for the house.

"Hillary? But how could she... uh, Dean?" Bobby pointed at her. "Why are that dog's eyes glowing?"

Food-boy glanced down at her before shrugging at Bobby. "I'm guessing because you're so frigging paranoid you even mix Holy Water in the dog food." He turned to wave at the angels. "Hey, are you guys gonna take care of this?" He made a hand-sweep to indicate all the dogs roaming around her yard. "Or is Hillary going to have to run them off?"

"We'll get these back home. Bobby can keep the other one, he's probably useless to the military now," Michael called back.

"Other one?" Book-boy asked Bobby. "What other one?"

"The one that broke through my wards, came into the house. I had to exorcise the poor thing." Bobby rushed back inside. "Not sure if he's gonna make it."

"Poor thing?" Food-boy asked Book-boy.

Book-boy shrugged. "So Bobby has a soft spot for dogs. So what?"

Hillary nudged Food-boy's hand. Enough talking. Time for food or petting.

* * *

"Hey, what happened to those two?" Sam asked, pointing out a pair of Rotts sleeping by the front porch.

"They're out cold," Raphael told him. "I think they were drugged."

"Drugged?" His brother sounded ticked again. "Sam, you think Bobby set out something to drug the dogs, so he wouldn't hurt them?"

Sam shrugged in reply. "No telling with Bobby." Then to Raphael. "Any way to exorcise them when they're asleep like that?"

"Sure," Raphael replied, "it's easier this way. Dean, you could probably use the practice. I heard about what happened last time."

Dean's jaw clenched and Sam understood his brother's annoyance, but Raphael made a good point. "And how am I supposed to learn this freaking perfect exorcism method? Practice?"

"Actually," Michael walked up to where they stood by the sleeping dogs, "there are a few tricks."

"Like?" Dean demanded.

"Well, if you say it along to certain tunes, you'll get the rhythm and timing right," the archangel explained.

"Like what?" Dean asked and Sam felt a measure of relief there was a simple way of getting this right. Dean's exorcisms were far too powerful now to toy with.

Michael hummed a familiar tune. Amused, Sam watched Dean's face change from interested to horrified disbelief.

"You have got to be kidding me!" he snapped.

Michael shrugged, turning away. "You asked."

Dean ran both hands over his head before sighing heavily. "Great. This is just freaking perfect." He groaned again before shaking out his shoulders and setting his attention on the task at hand. In a singsong voice, Dean repeated an ancient exorcism ritual to the tune 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star.' Sam couldn't help the grin covering his face, but he made damn sure to cover it up when Dean turned around.

"That was very good," Raphael told Dean after twin jets of black smoke raced away from the sleeping dogs. "I hope you remember it, it should be very useful."

"How could I forget it?" Dean demanded. His attention returned to Hillary, clearly one of his new favorite people despite her four-legged status. "Let's go check on Bobby."

* * *

Raphael eyed Michael curiously as they returned the last dog to his home. "There are other tunes Dean would have found more appealing," he said cautiously.

Michael gave him a blazing grin. "Yeah, but that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun."

"You've developed a sense of humor?" Raphael asked incredulously.

"Oh, come on, Ralph," Michael said. "It's still me." Then he winked. "Bet I can beat you back to the mountain."

Raphael stood in the afterglow of Michael's departure, stunned. Michael was not worried about why the hellhounds were at Singer's, what it could mean. And he had a sense of humor? Dean's influence was disturbing Raphael on so many levels, he now feared the council would force him to join the trial rather than mediate.


	45. Chapter 45:Plan B

And we're baa-aa-ack!! My awesome editor is having massive computer issues, so please be patient with us. I'm writing a story just for her and it starts posting today so keep an eye out for it: The Art of Balance. Thanks again to all you oddballs following this fic. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did!

**Chapter 45: Plan B  
**

Under the cover of darkness, Bela slipped into Singer's Salvage. She decided this place had to be just a front for Singer's hunting activities. Further research indicated he also sold 'specialized' armaments to the hunting community. She was hoping to find a way of exploiting some of Singer's connections in order to get closer to Dean. Find Dean, find the angel.

She checked her drugged ground meat. It was gone. Relieved, Bela set to work installing her new cameras. Her buyers would not wait much longer for proof.

"I got it, Sam!" Dean's voice rang through the yard followed by the sound of a door slamming.

Bela froze. It might be time for Plan B after all. She was running out of time and who was she to pass up the perfect opportunity? The dog would be drugged and Dean was coming outside all by his pretty little lonesome. She pulled out her trusty handgun and checked the clip. Ready.

Moving the way Daddy and all of her years of experience had taught her, Bela silently made her way around the junkers littering Singer's yard. She saw Dean Winchester from the back, moving a little stiffly for him. She wondered what had happened. He was pretty reckless; he had probably just hurt himself pulling some stupid stunt. Bela hoped he was hurt, it would make taking him easier.

Bela managed to slide right up behind him without his noticing. With a wide grin, she raised her gun to his head. "Dean?"

His body froze in place. Only his head moved, turning slowly until he could see her. "Shit."

She smiled wider. "I thought it was bitch?" Bela motioned with her head toward the exit. "You and I are taking a little ride now."

Dean's eyes widened as his face expressed his disbelief. "You're abducting me? Are you serious?"

"Just for a little while," Bela replied. "Until your buddy Michael shows up."

"You mean Mike?" Dean turned slowly to face her, his hands up. "Sorry, but I don't think you're his type."

"He more into fluffy clouds and harps?" Bela asked gleefully.

Dean shook his head at her. "Just goes to show that you really don't know what you're dealing with, lady."

A low growl came from behind him. Dean waved one hand in the air. "Go back to the house, Hillary," he ordered.

The monster mutt which had already chased her off twice walked slowly into view. Bela was torn between holding her gun on Dean or the dog. She made a show of the fact her safety wasn't on. "If you have any control over that monster, tell it to go away or I'll shoot it."

For a second, just a split second, she could have sworn she saw Dean's eyes glow. Probably just a trick of the light, a reflection. The monster mutt came to sit right on Dean's left foot, still growling at her.

"Hillary," Dean said in a clear warning voice, "house."

The dog bared its teeth at Bela and snarled. Bela aimed for its head.

"Don't," Dean said with a hand practically in her face. "Look, take both of us. I promise she'll behave."

Bela glared at him. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"Honestly?" Dean asked in an incredulous voice. "How much time do you have?"

"You really expect me to believe that dog will behave? You can't even get her to go back to the house," Bela argued. "I should just shoot her." She lowered her gun to sight on the dog.

Dean's eyes were cold and hard when he told her, "You do, and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

No one could possibly be that attached to a stupid dog. She applied pressure on the trigger. Dean stepped in front of the dog. "You want me, you take both of us. Or you can shoot both of us and just take my amulet." He lifted it on its leather cord. "All or none, babe."

Now how the hell could he possibly know about her amulet deal?

"Fine," Bela huffed. "But if that dog makes one move on me..."

Dean knelt in the dirt, eye to eye with the dog. He did not say anything, but Bela felt as if she was witnessing an unspoken agreement being made between man and dog. Then he stood, slapped his leg, and led the way out of the salvage yard. The monster mutt stayed close by his side and Bela was deciding which offshore accounts she could use to put all her earnings into.

"The van," she told him when they made it to the street. Dean stood beside it docilely, though his eyes were making threats he couldn't possibly follow through with. Bela grinned, knowing how frustrated and humiliated he felt right now. She wished victory could always taste this sweet.

Tie-wraps were useful for many things other than the wires she had planned to use them for, they made wonderful instant handcuffs. Bela considered putting one around the mutt's muzzle, until those teeth made a snap at her and Dean didn't do or say anything about it. Apparently there were limits to his captivity. Well, as long as she had him, fine. His bound hands stroked the mutt's head as he whispered to it. People who had pets were so strange.

"I didn't think you had a dog," Bela said as she started the rental van. Could she take her captive back to her hotel room? Probably not the best idea, someone might see her. There were alternatives.

"Didn't pick up on that while you were spying on us?" Dean asked in his saucy tone.

Bela grinned in her rearview mirror at him. "I guess I was too distracted by your 'friends'."

The dog made some growling noises.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said with a sigh. "What do you want me to do about it?"

The dog made more noises.

Dean scoffed loudly. "She'd shoot you. Forget it."

"Are - Are you talking to the dog?" Bela demanded. Obviously Dean Winchester was not the most stable person, but really...

Dean glared at her in the mirror. "You mind? Private conversation here."

"Sorry." The word was out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about it. Bela sat listening as the dog continued making dog-noises and Dean argued with it. Yeah, all those years hunting spirits and zombies had clearly taken their toll. Dean was clearly off his rocker, or whatever the Americans were calling it these days.

Bela drove them to an abandoned house she had scouted a few days ago. No power, but the water was still on. There was a single mattress in the floor of the den, where some previous squatter had dragged it. She tossed her bag of provisions in a corner of the room. Dean and the mutt headed straight for the mattress. He lowered himself slowly to it before stretching out with a sigh.

"Don't get comfortable," Bela snapped. "You're sleeping on the floor."

Dean closed his eyes with a tight-lipped smile. "Bad back. If I sleep on the floor I won't be able to move tomorrow, and I really don't think you can pick me up."

"I said..." she moved closer, but that demon mutt stood between her and Dean with bared teeth. A low growl vibrated through the room, penetrating her skin right down to her bones.

"Hillary," Dean sighed, "get your furry ass over here." He smacked the mattress with his hands. She bounded across the room. Bela had expected the dog to leap over Dean and plop down next to him. Instead, the dog stopped just short of the mattress. She walked slowly around him, moving as carefully as if she understood Dean had a bad back. When she stood beside Dean on the mattress she sank slowly to lie along his side, her head propped up on his stomach. The monster dog let out a last growl, as though she was claiming her territory. Dean ran his hands over her head before turning his face away from Bela. Before Bela could ask about his back, he started snoring. Loud.

Bela found a chair which still had its back intact to sit and watch over her captives. She might have dozed off and on during the night, but Dean and the mutt never moved. Once when she woke, around three in the morning, she caught the dog watching her. The light from the streetlight outside reflected off the dog's eyes, making them glow an odd golden brown. It was funny, because Bela would have sworn the light didn't penetrate into this room enough to reflect that strongly. Then the dog blinked and the glow was gone. She might have dreamed it.

Morning finally came without any ethereal visitors and Bela was almost disappointed, although she wasn't ready for them yet. She needed to get Dean and her buyer in the same room so they could call Dean's little friend.

Dean groaned as he shifted on the mattress, bound fists going up to rub at his eyes. He looked around groggily, as if he couldn't remember where he was or why. The dog grumbled on his stomach before sitting up. Dean looked like he was struggling to sit. Bela watched, amused and wondering how true his story of a bad back was. That could be valuable information. Finally Dean rolled over on to his stomach, the dog moving nimbly out of his way. He pushed up to all fours and Bela caught a glimpse of the pain on his face, but that might be from the way his hands were bound together. Dean took a few deep breaths. Next he pushed up to his knees. He stayed that way for a moment, his back to her, breathing heavily. One leg moved slowly up until his foot rested flat on the mattress. He braced his bound hands on that knee before pushing up to a stand. When Dean turned around, his face was flush with his exertions.

"You couldn't have gotten the jump on Sam, too?" he demanded in a breathless voice.

"Oh, is he your caretaker?" Bela asked lightly. "I'll keep that in mind for the next time."

Dean stretched his arms over his head, wincing again. "Next time I'll let Hillary have her way, bitch."

Bela tsked at him. "Now, now, Dean. Be nice. I let you have the mattress, didn't I?"

Dean snorted at her. "Like you could've moved Hillary. Or me."

"You really did hurt your back, didn't you?" Bela asked as her curiosity won out. "How?"

"Like you care." Dean glared at her. "Now what? Let's get this show on the road already."

"This show is on the road," Bela replied. "I'm just waiting for my contact to give me a time and place. In the meantime, there's a chair in the corner which might hold your weight."

Dean rolled his eyes as he glanced around the room. He snagged the chair and dragged it to the middle of the room. The monster dog followed his every step like she was attached to his left foot.

"So is there a bathroom around here or what?" he demanded.

"Certainly." Bela stood and motioned with her gun. "Down that hall."

Dean held out his bound hands.

"Deal with it," she told him with a grin. The murderous glare she received was so worth it. When he opened the bathroom door, she announced, "The dog stays out here. With me." Dean gave her a quizzical glance. "If you don't come back out, I shoot it."

His face went hard and cold, showing her the murderous brute under that snide, sarcastic facade. Dean didn't even glance down at the dog as he snapped, "Stay. I'll be right back."

The dog sat with her back to the door, growling low at Bela. Bela kept her gun trained on the monster mutt, not trusting it for a second. At least Dean was a human being, a low-life human being but still human nonetheless, and so could be counted on to react somewhat rationally. A dog? Well, there was no telling what a dog would do, especially this one. This stupid furry mongrel just might rush a loaded gun, since it couldn't know any better. Bela relaxed somewhat when she heard the toilet flush. The door opened and Dean's head poked out. The mutt stood up and moved aside to make room for him to come out into the hallway.

"You do know the dog needs to go, too?" Dean told her with a sly grin. "Unless there's a corner you're not too fond of? And if you don't mind the smell. Personally, I'd rather not smell that all day."

"Fine!" Bela snapped, motioning with her pistol. "Out back."

Dean stood just outside the backdoor while the mutt roamed the entire backyard before finally picking a spot. Bela really didn't care what the dog did or if it even came back, but it did come back. They stepped back inside the house.

"What about breakfast?" Dean asked. "We can wait here." He made a sweeping gesture with his bound hands.

"Ha-ha," Bela said sarcastically. "Den. Move." Her stomach growled uncomfortably at the reminder. She hadn't planned for eating here, the decision had been made in such haste. Well, invention was the mother of necessity and all that. Very well.

Bela called her contact. "I have the bait," she said the moment he answered. "And we need breakfast."

After assurances of food being brought by trusted operatives, Bela slid her phone back in her pocket. Perhaps he would also bring an eyewitness the buyer would trust, that would make this operation a little easier.

* * *

Daniel's cab dropped him off in a depressed area of town. Of the houses which were not abandoned, many had cars parked in the yard, some on cinder blocks. A few sported bars over the windows, but such measures in this neighborhood would only encourage them to be targeted since they had something to protect. The trees in the yards were large, no one had bothered to plant saplings in the past ten years, at least.

He hefted his bag of breakfast foods in his right hand as he walked slowly up to the address he had been given over the phone. A lesser emissary could not be trusted, a higher rank would be wasted on a mere errand. If contact with the angel had been made, Daniel had permission to call the others. The Cardinal had also given him leave to wait for a sign and bring the bait, as the woman thief had called her captive, food. They had maybe two days before the Cardinal's patience dissipated. Considering the gravity of their mission, Daniel thought his master was behaving with extreme leniency.

Drapes faded from the sun and age hung in the windows and the single bush in the yard had withered brittle and dry from neglect, much like the entire street. He knocked on the door and it echoed hollowly inside in the manner of empty houses. Low voices followed his knock so he knew it was not completely empty.

"Just shut up and stand there!" a woman's voice snapped harshly. Daniel's feet rooted to the spot on reflex. The door cracked open, revealing only a brown eye. "What?"

"I brought breakfast," Daniel told her, showing the woman the bag he clutched in one hand.

"About time," she hissed as the door widened. She looked outside nervously before admitting him. Daniel walked past her. Just beyond, in the hall, stood a man with a large dog.

"Christo," Daniel said, hoping the woman was still busy worrying about the neighbors, as if she needed to around here.

The man stiffened proudly as his eyes flared green for a moment, the dog's a golden brown. Demons, especially the powerful ones, could have eyes a color other than black, but none should be able to glow with divine light that way. The man's gaze narrowed on Daniel as his heart leaped with joy. Even if they could not find Michael himself, perhaps this one would do. He was clearly not an angel, the fact he had been captured so easily made it an impossibility, but he was certainly special. It was possible this man could be special enough to fool the Pope himself, especially if the talk within his order of the Pope's foolishness and weak mental state were true.

"I am Daniel," he said by way of introduction. "It is an honor to meet you." Daniel bowed deeply with great respect from the waist, as he had been taught from the time he could walk.

The man regarded him contemptuously. "Did you say breakfast?" he demanded.

The woman closed the door quietly. "Back in the den," she ordered. When the man glared at her, she added, "Unless you want the mutt shot."

Daniel felt more than heard a low growl and he could not tell if it came from the dog or the man, even though the dog would be the obvious choice. He followed the others to a larger room where a torn and stained mattress lay on the floor and two chairs stood empty six feet apart.

"You might find another chair in there." The woman jerked her chin towards the kitchen.

"I am fine," Daniel replied. "Are you ready to eat?" He reached into his sack to offer wrapped fast food to the man first. Had he known what he might find here, Daniel would have insisted on preparing a meal himself. It would have been more proper.

* * *

Bobby stared at the surface of his desk wondering how in the hell the only people left on the face of the planet he thought of as family could get themselves into such deep, dark trouble. Constantly. If it happened just once or twice, Bobby could chalk it up to bad luck. But this? This smacked of self-infliction, constant stupidity, or a curse. Yeah, a curse would do it.

Dean went missing late last night when he took Hillary for a walk. After twenty minutes, Sam had gone looking for his brother, with no luck. Even though the precious Impala was still parked beside the house, they thought maybe Dean had been called on another one of his jobs. Sam had not been able to sit still, worrying and wondering. It wasn't like Dean to worry his brother like this, so they had to assume something had happened. It was unlikely Dean would be easily found, but that didn't stop them from looking all night for him. Sam was still out in the Impala driving through the neighborhood and searching for his brother. Bobby came back to the house hoping to find some type of scrying spell which might locate the boy. Sam of course jumped to the instant conclusion that Dean's disappearance was demonic in nature, while Bobby wondered if maybe Dean hadn't been called to give testimony in Sam's trial. For all they knew, it could've started already.

"It hasn't." It showed just how much his life had changed lately that the sudden appearance of a huge man with wild, wind-swept hair did not bother him. The fact that this man was an archangel should have him shaking in his boots, but Bobby breathed out a sigh of relief. Reinforcements had arrived.

"But it will soon," Michael continued. "I need to talk to Dean."

"He's not here," Bobby admitted reluctantly, forcing himself to look up at the archangel. "We don't know where he is."

Michael frowned, his eyes taking on an ominous glow. "What do you mean, you don't know? How can you not know?"

"He took Hillary out for a walk last night and we haven't seen him since. I don't suppose you would know if he was called for a job?" Bobby didn't like to think this way, but he didn't have a choice. "Maybe one where he went off and got himself hurt?"

Michael shook his head slowly. "Dean hasn't been called since the girl on the roof. His back is pretty bad right now, so some of us have been covering for him. Besides, we would have been known if he was hurt." He motioned to the books on the desk. "What are you doing? Why aren't you out looking for him?"

"Research," Bobby snapped before he could stop himself. "Sam and I been looking for Dean all damn night. I thought I might be able to find a spell to locate the kid." He glared at the angel. "Unless you got a better suggestion?"

Michael frowned. He grabbed one of Bobby's books. After flipping through the pages, he set it open on Bobby's desk. "I'm not allowed to interfere. Good luck with that," he tapped a finger on the open page, "spell. I hope it works."

"I'll have Dean give you a holler when we find him," Bobby promised.

"I'd appreciate that," Michael replied with a nod as he faded from sight.

Bobby read over the spell. There were a few ingredients he didn't have handy, but were probably in the safe. It might wipe out his stash of one that was pretty rare, but if it found Dean, it would be worth it. After Dean was back home, safe and sound, Bobby had to think about having a long talk with Raphael. Michael was working around the rules, something Dean would do. He wondered if Michael had already had it in him, or if it was new. Bobby loved Dean, more than the kid would ever know if he could help it, but an archangel emulating Dean was downright frightening.


	46. Chapter 46:Call to Court

Yes, here it is! I know a few of you have been waiting on the trial to start. It'll take at least a few chapters to hear all the testimony. (Oh, man, have I been looking forward to this!!)

**Chapter 46: Call to Court**

"Are you sure this will work?" Sam demanded.

"Hell, boy, nothin' in life's guaranteed," Bobby snapped back. "But I really hope so. Don't see where we got much of an alternative."

Bobby had all the ingredients ready and was about to start the spell when the air in front of his desk shimmered again. "Now what?" he growled.

Raphael appeared before them. "It is time," he announced. "The trial begins now."

Bobby exchanged a look of amazement with Sam. "But Dean's missing. Can't we get an extension or something?"

"I won't go without Dean," Sam added anxiously.

"I will bring Dean," Raphael said. "You must appear in court. Now." He waved his hand and the house faded away, replaced with white marble walls. When he looked closer, Bobby could see the walls were covered in carvings depicting all kinds of major events, both from religious and history texts.

"Do you like it?" a pleasant voice asked from behind them.

"It's beautiful," Sam said in an awed voice.

"Allow me to show you my new favorite," the voice said. Bobby turned around to face the person addressing them. He could not tell if this individual was male or female. The hair was mid-length and his or her facial features could fit either gender. Even the voice was mid-range. He, or she, was dressed in a long flowing white robe.

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

The person smiled broadly at them, showing impossibly white teeth. "I am the one responsible for this wall. You may call me Pat."

One of Sam's eyebrows quirked up and a smile played across the face which had a nearly permanent happy expression lately. Bobby fell back to walk beside Sam as their guide explained various panels to them.

"What?" Bobby hissed under his breath.

"It's Pat," Sam whispered back, eyes sparking with delight.

"And?" Bobby prompted.

Sam grinned and shook his head. That was it? The kid was grinning like a maniac because this character's name was Pat? Where was Dean when you needed him?

"And this is Dean facing down Michael," Pat was saying.

Bobby's attention snapped back to the wall. "What? Why the he-" Sam's big damn foot interrupted Bobby's profanity, for which he was both grateful and extremely annoyed. He hopped on one foot while Pat watched curiously. Bobby slammed his foot back down on the hard marble floor, instantly regretting the action as a fresh stab came from the point of Sam's impact up through his lower leg. He cleared his throat to cover the wince on his face. "Why is Dean up there?" he asked in a calm voice.

The instant Pat's back was turned, with a hand raised to point at the new engraving, Bobby shot Sam a nasty look. Sam just grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

"This is the first time in recorded history that a human, a full-blooded human, has survived and won a face-off with any angel. The fact it happened with an archangel makes it more momentous. A number of us are watching the results intently, recording them for the sake of history and science," Pat intoned.

"Science?" Sam interrupted. "For the sake of science?"

Pat turned, a pleased expression on the individual's face. "Why certainly. This way, if a similar event happens in the future we will know what to expect." Pat's head tilted slightly to one side, eyes with a curious and penetrating glow fixed on Sam. "You do realize we helped to institute the foundations of modern science, don't you? We started with the monks, who at the time were most receptive, influencing them to study their world."

"You're a muse?" Sam asked in a shocked voice. "Is that for real? A muse of science?"

Pat smiled at them. "It has been many years since anyone has referred to my kind as a muse. Thank you."

Sam straightened up quickly, his whole body tensing. "I think Dean's here," he said slowly.

Bobby let out a breath of relief as he turned around to look.

* * *

Dean would have liked to cross his arms over his chest, but with his wrists bound with the stupid tie-wrap he couldn't. So he sat with Hillary's head in his lap, awkwardly stroking her fur, while the bitch and the weird guy stared. If he wasn't afraid of what might happen to Hillary, Dean would have put Bela two feet under last night. And again this morning. He might be fast, but Dean wasn't about to risk not being faster than a bullet. Not with Hillary. He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt the same protective urge for Hillary as he did for Sam. Maybe even more so.

The air shimmered between him and the two bozos staring at him. Raphael appeared out of the air in front of him.

"About time," Dean grumbled as he stood, the tie-wrap around his wrists snapping away like an old rubber band. He rubbed the tender skin as he glanced around, half surprised the idiots weren't reacting. But the two idiots hadn't moved. They looked frozen. "What's going on, Ralph?"

"It's time," he announced, rather formally.

"Time? For?" Dean prodded, waving a hand in front of the guy's face. No reaction, they were definitely on pause.

"The trial," Raphael declared.

Dean made a sour face. "I take it you're going to bring me right back. Do not pass Go, do not collect a hundred dollars?"

Ralph nodded. "It's the rules, Dean. You should have an idea of how encompassing they are by now."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I take it Sam will be there?"

"Yes, of course," Ralph replied. "But you will not be allowed to speak with him."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! What if I promise not to tell him what's going on?" He watched for some kind of reaction, but Ralph's face could have been carved in stone. "He's my little brother, Ralph. I could get killed here! This might be my last chance to talk to him."

Now there was a flicker of emotion across Ralph's face. "Perhaps," he conceded. "If you were to promise. And promise not to even give them a hint," he added hastily.

"I promise," Dean said, relieved. He glared down at the dog by his side. "That goes for you too, you know."

Hillary grumbled unhappily, but she agreed too. Dean searched Ralph's face again. "Okay. Is it settled?"

Ralph didn't look happy about it, but he nodded. "Very well. Let us go."

The room disappeared in a streak of light, replaced by a long hall with marble walls. Dean barely noticed there were some carvings in the walls as he rushed along behind Ralph, anxious to see Sam again. Hillary trotted steadily by his side, her nails clicking on the hard white floors.

They had rounded a corner into a larger room which continued the whole marble theme, when Dean heard his name being shouted.

"Sam," he breathed out in relief. He tried not to rush over, to appear calm and cool. At least it didn't look like Bela had left any nasty surprises for his brother and Bobby. Dean didn't notice Bobby coming up to him until the older man threw an arm around him and slapped him on the back.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean returned the half-hug as his free hand reached for Sam's shoulder. "Good to see you," he told his brother.

Dean could feel the depth of Sam's relief. "You too," Sam sounded a little choked up. "Where've you been?"

Dean shook his head. "Don't ask, Sam. I can't tell you."

He watched Sam's jaw clench and his eyes harden. "One of the rules, huh?" he asked in a tight voice.

"Sorry, Sam," Dean replied. "Believe me, I really wish I could."

Sam sighed heavily and Dean could feel the weight of Sam's worry and guilt, as though he could have stopped whatever was keeping Dean away. Then Hillary, clearly feeling left-out, jumped up on Sam, forcing him to stagger back a few steps.

"And you!" Sam buried both hands in her fur. "You couldn't get him out of what-ever-happened?"

Hillary 'said' that she was doing a good job. Dean was still alive, wasn't he? She was a good guard dog!

"Hill," Dean said in a low warning voice. She was coming awfully close to breaking his promise. Hillary landed back on all four paws with a grunt. She circled back around to sit next to Dean's left foot and stare up at him. Dean rested a hand on her head in thanks, scratching slowly with his fingertips.

Sam's face tightened, but he didn't ask. Thank God for small favors. Bobby whispered in Sam's ear and was answered with another tight nod. Dean figured he didn't need to ask about that, he and Hillary would undoubtedly find out soon enough. He hoped.

"It's time," Gabby rushed up to them. She smoothed out the flowing white gown she wore. Dean wondered why it seemed familiar.

"She looks a little like the statue of Justice, doesn't she?" Sam asked. "You don't think that's going to help, do you?"

Dean chuckled at his little brother. "Couldn't hurt, could it?"

Sam sighed. "Hope not."

"C'mon, Sammy." Dean nudged his brother in the side. "What happened to that euphoria?"

"After staying up all night searching for my missing brother," Sam glared at him, "it kind of wore off."

"Oh." Dean swallowed kind of hard. Yeah, he should have expected this. If it had been Sam missing, Dean would have spent the night tearing the town apart.

"Dean?" Gabby motioned for him to come forward. "Was Raphael able to talk to you about the dog?"

Dean glanced down at his left. "You mean Hillary?" he asked.

Gabby sighed heavily. "He didn't talk to you, did he?" she demanded.

"Nope." Dean shrugged at her. "We've been kind of tied up lately. What about Hillary?"

"I need the dog to be a witness, but she has to be a willing witness," Gabby explained as they approached a room with a wooden ring around the center. Outward from the ring were long curved bench seats four rows deep. One section, separated from the others by a low wood wall, was full. Dean could barely look directly at the beings filling those seats. They shifted in and out between being fully transparent and appearing solid, between looking quite normal and human to spectral. It hurt his eyes to stare too long.

"What's that?" Dean whispered to Gabby.

"The council," she whispered back.

"Are they like a jury?" Dean asked quietly as Gabby motioned for him to take a seat in one of the first rows.

"More like judge and jury," Gabby replied. "I need the dog as a character witness. But you and Sam will have to answer a couple of questions first, so I can make my point."

"And this will help Sam?" Dean asked.

Gabby gave him an incredulous look. "I wouldn't try it if I didn't think it would help." She pointed at Hillary. "But she can't bite me when she takes the stand. It would ruin her credibility." A thoughtful expression crossed her face. "Maybe you can both take the witness stand together. That would go a long way to showing them the point I need to make."

Dean shot Hillary a questioning look. Hillary shifted over to sit directly on his left foot. She snorted in Gabby's direction. Apparently she had no intention of Dean going anyplace without her, not until they were both safe at Bobby's and maybe not even then.

"I think we'll have to do it together," Dean admitted slowly, a little stunned by Hillary's possessiveness. After all, she'd only been their dog for a couple of days now.

"Good." Gabby leaned a little closer to Hillary. "Is petting out of the question?"

Hillary snapped at her. Dean grabbed the big dog by the collar, yanking her even closer to his leg. "Fine," he said hurriedly, "it's fine. I got her."

Gabby moved to stand at a table inside the inner wooden ring. Mike walked up to a table on the other side of the ring, wearing a slightly more masculine version of Gabby's get-up. Dean sniggered at him behind one hand. Mike caught him and rolled his eyes, a pink hue spreading across his cheeks. Yeah, this one was going to be good for a while.

Ralph entered the inner circle last. He stood between the two tables.

"For as long as I am able to maintain perspective in this hearing, I shall fulfill the role of mediator," he announced. Dean noticed Mike and Gabby exchange a look of surprise; apparently Ralph's speech was not the norm. "As is our custom, the prosecution shall state their case. Then the defense may present evidence. Once the defense's evidence has been presented, the prosecution shall present their evidence. Then the defense shall have the opportunity to refute the prosecution's evidence. Each party will be allowed closing arguments and then the case will be closed. At any time the council may intervene to request evidence or ask questions."

Ralph turned to Mike. "The prosecution may state its case."

Mike cleared his throat as he stood in the center of the circle facing the council. "In the case of the Heavenly Hosts versus Samuel Winchester..."

Dean glanced to his right. Little brother looked pale and a trickle of sweat ran from Sam's temple down his cheek. He wanted to throw an arm over his brother's shoulders and assure him it would be all right, but this time Dean really didn't know. How could he possibly protect his brother from angels? Their best bet was to win this frigging trial.

Mike droned on for a while about demonic infections and how the host was always influenced. He said something about Sam and Dad never getting along once the infection really took root, forcing Sam to lash out at authority figures. Actually, Dean realized, it did explain a lot. The fact Dad and Sam were so much alike explained more, though.

It felt like Mike talked damn near forever. Dean checked his watch, but the time had stopped. Oh, great. That had to mean once this was over they were going to be returned to the exact moment and place they were taken from. Crap. Now that sucked right out loud. He and Hill were going to be right back dealing with Bela and the creepy weirdo dude?

He sighed as his hand slid down to rub Hillary's neck. For some strange reason, just petting Hillary made him feel better. Sam let out a matching sigh as he leaned back in the hard bench. He rolled his eyes at Dean as Mike droned on. The thought that maybe Mike was being boring on purpose, trying to lose his case, must have hit both of them at the same time. Sam covered his mouth with one hand as Dean looked away, desperately attempting to suppress a terrible case of the chuckles. Guys didn't giggle.

"First witness for the defense," Ralph announced.

Showtime.


	47. Chapter 47:Protective Witness

Yes! Hillary testifies!! LOL – I love this. I really do. Here it is, fellow oddballs! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

**Chapter 47: Protective Witness**

Gabby moved to the center of the room. "I need to call the defendant first to provide background testimony for my first witness. Samuel Winchester?"

Sam waited until Dean gave him a shove in the shoulder before he moved. He headed slowly for the center of the room. Just in front of the council was a single chair made of the same white marble as the floors and walls. Ralph led Sam to the chair.

"Samuel Winchester," Ralph intoned formally. "In this court you are bound by the same rules as our kind. You will find it impossible to lie. You can either answer truthfully or not at all. Do you understand these rules?"

Sam nodded quickly. "Yes. I do." He glanced over at Dean.

Yeah, Sam ought to understand most of these frigging rules by now. Dean gave a small, tight nod to his brother, telling Sam to go along with whatever Gabby had in mind.

Gabby exchanged places with Ralph to stand in the middle of the room, near Sam.

"You are Samuel Winchester, the defendant?" she asked.

Sam cleared his throat before answering. "That's correct."

"I understand your family calls you Sam or Sammy. Is that correct?" Gabby continued.

Sam's face hardened. "It's Sam. Only my brother gets to call me Sammy."

"Of course," she said with a smile. "Tell me, Sam. Do you like me?"

The hard expression on Sam's face softened into confusion. "Excuse me?"

Gabby stood straighter. "Do. You. Like. Me? It's a simple question, Samuel. Please answer it."

Sam swallowed hard before shaking his head. "No," he said softly. "Not really."

"How about Raphael?" Gabby gestured at Ralph. "How do you feel about him?"

Sam looked to Dean before answering. Dean knew exactly how Sam felt about all the archangels. Truth or silence, huh? How bad would Sam's personal feelings hurt his case? Oh, crap. Did he trust Gabby enough for this? She was glaring at him and so...was...Mike. Dean nodded for Sam to answer.

Sam shrugged. "Is that something you really need to know?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes. It's quite important," Gabby replied earnestly. "Please answer the question, Sam."

Sam's reluctance to answer was really obvious. "I don't like him either."

"And Michael?" Gabby pointed out the third archangel in the room. "What about him?"

Sam shrugged. "He's not exactly my favorite person."

"Thank you, Sam. You may go back to your seat," Gabby said with a broad smile, as if Sam had said exactly what she wanted to hear.

For an archangel, this chick was seriously weird.

"I must call my next two witnesses at the same time," Gabby announced as Sam made his way back. He looked a little pale. "Dean Winchester and Hillary."

Dean paused beside his little brother as Sam sat down. He rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, silently asking if his brother was okay before heading into the court. Sam nodded, giving him a pat on the arm as he motioned toward the chair. Dean passed his brother, Hillary fast on his heels.

The chair was much more intimidating up close. Dean took the seat and Hillary sat wedged between his feet. He gave her a quick pat before looking up at Gabby and waiting for the questions to start.

Gabby's smile was forced and fake. "Dean? How about you? What do you think of me?"

Dean chuckled nervously as he scratched along his jaw. "Uh, you mean other than the fact you're a raving bitch?"

"Yes," she smiled. "Other than that."

Dean shrugged, giving her a cocky smile. "That about sums it up."

"Michael?" she asked. "How do you feel about him?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly a fan for a long time," Dean said slowly, "but he's been kind of growing on me lately."

"And Raphael?" Gabby asked, pointing him out.

Dean couldn't help but grin. "Anybody who hunts demons is okay in my book."

"And Hillary?" Gabby asked as she stepped backwards. "Does she feel the same way?"

Dean shrugged as he leaned back in the hard, uncomfortable chair. "Hill kind of makes up her own mind."

"As in, her opinions differ from yours?" Gabby demanded.

Hillary's head arched backward to look up at him. "Well, sure," he said as he rubbed her neck. "Why not?"

"Why not indeed," Gabby said triumphantly. "Tell me, does Hillary ever willingly leave your side?"

"Not hardly," Dean admitted. Hillary wriggled between his feet, trying to move even closer to him. A low growl came from her directed at Gabby. "Relax," he warned the big dog as his hand slipped through the thick fur to grab her by the collar.

"Dean?" Gabby's voice became demanding. "What's wrong? Are you worried Hillary will do something you don't want her to?"

"Huh?" Dean looked at her. "Where are you going with this?"

"One more thing," Gabby said as she held up a hand to silence him. "Raphael, would you step over here, please?" Ralph came closer, his face creased in a frown. "Closer." She motioned towards Hillary.

Hillary stood up as the second archangel approached, her low growl growing louder. Gabby grabbed Ralph and shoved him closer. Dean barely tightened his hand on her collar in time. Hillary leaped at Ralph the instant he crossed some invisible barrier she had set in her mind. Just before she leaped he could see her line in the floor, how close Gabby had been standing to it. Freaking bitch probably knew, too.

Dean's boots skidded against the marble as he clung for dear life, holding Hillary back from actually attacking an angel. This was freaking insane! If he thought he could, he would frigging kill Gabby here and now. Dean glared daggers at her as he shouted for Hillary to cool it. Finally, after putting the protective mutt in a headlock and getting Ralph to take a few steps behind her invisible line, Dean had her back under control.

"Don't come any closer," he warned Ralph, waving him further back. "I can't control her when you're too close."

An excited murmur ran through the council. Dean had a death grip on Hillary's collar now, not wanting to risk a repeat performance.

"Hillary," he growled, "sit!"

Hillary backed between his feet again to sit slowly. Maintaining his hold on her collar, Dean let out a breath of relief. He had no idea having a dog could be so stressful! No wonder Bobby always left his four-legged residents at home.

"It's obvious the dog has been bonded with a human," Gabby announced to the council. "And the human is not who we would expect. Dean bonded Hillary with his brother, and the dog is now his most faithful companion." She sounded like she was ramping up. "This is not a sign of being bonded with an individual currently under demonic influence."

"Might explain why she's such a pain in the ass," Dean mumbled to himself, "if this bonding thing is what it sounds like."

He found Gabby staring at him. "It is," she said in a serious voice. "Hillary shares Sam's emotions. I don't suppose you understood what you were doing when you bonded them?"

Dean shook his head. "I didn't know I'd done anything. Are you sure I did it?"

"Dean," Mike's voice echoed in the cold white room, "was there ever a time you wanted the dog to like Sam? Where you felt as if you could force her to like your little brother?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Well, yeah. I guess. Why?"

"Because that was when you caused the bonding," Mike said as he walked to stand near Gabby. "Why did you feel the need to bond them? Was there a reason you thought this dog would not like your brother?"

Dean did not like the sound of that question, but could he really refuse to answer it? He had a feeling it would be better to give some answer than let this council draw its own conclusions.

"Dogs don't always like Sam," he replied slowly. "Sometimes not even Bobby's dogs."

"But sometimes Bobby Singer's dogs do like him?" Gabby demanded instantly.

"Yeah, sure," Dean said, not really understanding what this had to do with anything.

"Tell me, Dean. Has a dog ever disliked Sam since you healed his demonic infection?" Gabby asked.

"Objection," Mike raised a hand. "Arguing statements not yet presented." A thunderclap echoed through the room.

"I will rephrase," Gabby offered to the council. "Dean, when was the last time you witnessed an animal, or specifically a dog, show any dislike towards Sam?"

Dean scratched at the back of his head with his free hand. "Uh, well, maybe the last time we stayed at Bobby's. He had this psycho Rott back then, Rumsfeld, who couldn't stand Sam. Bobby had to keep it chained up outside."

"And the first time Hillary saw Sam was when?" she asked.

"When we dropped by to visit Bobby about a week ago," Dean explained.

"One last thing," Gabby said. "Dean, you have been polite and gracious to me for the past couple of days. Is it because I am your brother's defense in this trial?"

Dean really did not want to answer this one at all, but he found himself nodding to her. Gabby gave a quick nod in response before her gaze dropped to Hillary.

"And you?" she asked. "Are you willing to tolerate me?" Gabby took a step forward, right over Hillary's invisible line.

Hillary lunged for Gabby, teeth bared, her growls loud enough to fill the whole court. Gabby stepped outside of the invisible circle of tolerance. She walked across the court to where Sam sat. Hillary growled again but did not pull away. Gabby reached toward Sam with one hand, her gaze fixed on the big dog. Hillary growled louder. She placed a hand on Sam's shoulder while Sam watched with an expression of fascination and amazement. Hillary started barking the instant Gabby touched Sam and Dean could hear the 'back off' and 'mine' in the dog's excited, angry barks, but she didn't move.

With a satisfied smile, Gabby's hand dropped away from Sam and Hillary fell quiet again. Dean figured there was no way Hillary would be taking her eyes off one particular archangel for the rest of the trial and he hoped whatever Gabby had in mind would be worth it.

"It would appear," Gabby again addressed the council who were nearly all solid-appearing at the moment, "Hillary is more protective of Dean than of Sam. Perhaps Sam values his brother's life more than his own? Unusual behavior for someone under demonic influence, wouldn't you say?" She gave Dean a tight smile. "No more questions for the dog."

Mike stepped closer again. "The prosecution has no means of refuting canine testimony."

"Dean," Ralph said in his authoritative voice, "you may return with Hillary to your seat."

Dean had to walk bent over in order to maintain his grip on Hillary's collar. There was no way he would turn her loose now, not so close to all these archangels. Sam couldn't chill, just for once?

He sat next to his brother, casting Sam a hard look. Sam gave him a sheepish shrug. "What?" he whispered as Hillary sat between them.

Dean gestured to the dog with his free hand. "Seriously?" he hissed back. "You hate 'em all? Weren't you the one who prayed all the time?"

A scowl crossed Sam's face. "That was before I got to know them." Hillary crawled up the short wood wall separating them from the inner circle of the court. She rested both front paws on the top of the wall with her head on her paws, brown eyes sparkling with canine intelligence tracking Gabby's every move.

Dean snorted in disbelief. "You really thought they were the cloud-sitting, harp-playing kind?"

"You two idiots shut up," Bobby snapped from behind them. "Gabriel is callin' another witness."

"Bobby Singer," Gabby's voice rang out.

With a grunt, Bobby stood up to make his way to the marble seat. Dean leaned closer to his brother. "You didn't answer the question."

"Well," Sam said slowly, "I thought some of them were."

Dean rolled his eyes until they landed on Hillary. "And you," he whispered, "you possessive mutt. Are you trying to get our asses kicked? What were you thinking, going after two frigging archangels like that?"

Hillary grumbled as Bobby was made aware of the rules by Ralph, but her attention never left Gabby.

"She's right," Sam whispered under his breath.

"About what?" Dean demanded.

"You don't need any stupid archangels doing anything else to you," Sam stated in a hard voice which sounded scarily like Dad.

Dean glanced at the dog staring fixedly at archangels before looking at Sam. "You got all that from her?"

Sam glared at Gabby as she asked Bobby to tell about what Sam was like as a kid. "No," Sam said slowly. "It's how I feel too."

Dean groaned as he leaned into Sam's shoulder. "Dude, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

"Sure," Sam whispered back, "it's Mike's fault."

"Well," Dean whispered while Bobby related a story about Sam writing some stupid paper about Dean in school, which Dean still kept hidden in the trunk of the Impala, "I'm glad it happened."

Sam's head turned slowly to glare at him. "What?" he hissed angrily. "How can you say that?" Sam's voice rose in volume and Dean could feel some of the council's attention turning to them.

"Sshh!" He elbowed his brother in the ribs while giving the council a broad smile. "Shut up, Sam," Dean said in a soft, sing-song voice.

"No, Dean," Sam insisted as he turned away from the court to face Dean. "You tell me exactly what you meant by that. Right now."

Great. Now more of the council were looking at them than at Gabby and Bobby. Yeah, just freaking perfect, Winchester.

"It worked out best for you," he whispered under his breath, nodding towards Bobby, hoping for Sam to pick up on the not-so-subtle hint.

Sam acted like he had no idea that Dean wanted him to drop it. How frigging typical. "How?" Sam's voice was even louder now. Bobby stopped talking to shoot both of them a glare. Dean tried to grin back as he motioned for Bobby to continue giving his testimony.

Bobby opened his mouth to continue when Gabby held up a hand to stop him. "Yes, Dean. How?" Dean glared at her. "Answer Sam's question so we can all hear it."

"Objection," Mike jumped to his feet. "Point of Order. Dean is not in the witness chair."

A wind swept soundlessly through the warm white room. Odd how it felt so warm to Dean, considering it was made of marble. As the summer breeze, complete with scents of fresh-cut grass and blooming flowers, swept over him he knew Mike's objection had been overruled.

"Dean? How has this worked out best for Sam?" Gabby restated Sam's question.

A low growl emanated from Hillary as Gabby walked a little closer. She froze. After locking eyes for a brief moment with Hillary, Gabby took two steps back. She gave the dog a questioning look. Hillary lifted her head to grunt at Dean. _Get on with it._

Dean cleared his throat uncertainly as he looked into his brother's angry eyes. How often had he seen a deeper anger there, barely repressed? How much longer would Sam have been able to keep it under control? Forever, or just a few more days?

"Because I didn't know it was there," he finally told his brother and could hear the emotional strain in his voice. Did keeping a steady voice equal a lie? Apparently. "And I'm glad it's gone. If the price I have to pay for that is doing a few jobs, burping babies or diving into rivers to save some moron, then it's worth it. Actually, it's damned cheap."

There was a brief flurry of activity.

"Dean," Ralph glared at him from across the court. "Watch your language."

Dean nodded hurriedly, embarrassed. "Sorry."

Hillary let out a deep growl in Ralph's direction and Dean tightened his grip on her collar. He looked at Sam this time. "Cool it."

Sam crossed both arms over his chest as he glowered across the room at Ralph and Gabby. "I'll try."

Right. Sure he would.


	48. Chapter 48:Hostile Testimony

You folks love Hillary so much, you've inspired me to create a canine main character for my Nano-novel! (So far so good. My word count is pretty much on track.) Thanks again to all of you for your patience in November. I really appreciate it. And a big thanks to _**charis-kalos **_for always taking the time edit my fanfic.

**Chapter 48: Hostile Testimony**

"...and that was when Sam decided my books were out of order. He set about rearranging my whole da- uh, darn library." Bobby squirmed in the white chair. He shot a glance their way.

"And did any of your dogs ever take a liking to Sam?" Gabriel asked. Sam bristled at the question. He heard Hillary shoot the archangel another well-deserved growl.

"Oh, sure," Bobby said with a wave of his hand. "Why, I remember an old hound I had, Ike. Wasn't too much of a guard dog except he looked the part, but he took a real shining to Sam. Used to follow the kid around everywhere."

"Was Ike the only dog you had who liked Sam?" she asked. Hillary growled again and Sam ran a hand over her head. What a great dog.

"Nope." Bobby readjusted the hat on his head. "But there've been a lot of dogs over the years. Can't remember who did or didn't like the boys." He fixed Gabriel with a stare. "But I will tell ya, the ones that didn't, I didn't trust as far as I could throw 'em."

"Thank you, Mister Singer," Gabriel said with a brilliant smile. "No more questions. Cross examination?"

"Not at this time," Michael replied. "You may step down, Bobby." He flinched. "Mister Singer."

Gabriel shot Michael a confused look while Bobby headed back to their seats. Sam wondered what it was all about.

"Next witness," Gabriel announced, "is Dean Winchester."

Sam groaned to himself as Dean and Hillary went back to the witness stand, if a marble chair could be called that. What business of angels, or anyone else's, was any of this anyway? Here they were, being forced to expose everything that had happened to their family, and why? Because Sam's life sucked, that was why. Mom died when he was a baby - Sam's fault because he was targeted by the demon. Dad died - Sam's fault again because Dad went after the demon which killed Mom because it was after him. Dean had a bad back - Sam's fault because Dean went after the demon because it was after him. And now? Just because he had the stupid idea that having an archangel as an ally would be a good thing for them, Dean and Mike got into a dumbass staring contest his brother just had to win. Not that he had really doubted Dean could best Michael in some things, like pool, poker, beer and women. Honestly, he had seen a confrontation coming, but he hadn't really expected a staring contest of all freaking things.

Dean's testimony was short and Hillary only growled at Gabriel. Constantly. Not that Sam blamed her of course. He wished he could get away with doing that. Only he, Dean and Bobby seemed concerned with Hillary's behavior here. Damn dog was getting away with murder. And where had Dean been since last night anyway? It was pretty obvious he hadn't taken off to hook up with some pretty face - hopefully attached to a nice body. Not that Sam had really thought that might be the case, since the Impala had still been at Bobby's. With the way Hillary was acting Sam could only assume something really bad was happening to Dean and it had his stomach tied up in knots with worry.

Dean returned to his seat beside Sam. "Relax," he whispered as Hillary leaned into Sam's leg briefly, before returning to her earlier position of glaring over the short wall at the archangels.

Sam shook his head at his brother. Relax? Honestly? That was the best Dean could come up with? Sam couldn't possibly relax, not now. This trial couldn't have come at a worse time. He and Bobby needed to find Dean! Well, okay, so Dean looked fine. Right now. In a heavenly host courtroom. He could be comatose or beaten and lying in a ditch some place and this was just Dean's self-image they were seeing in court. Hell, Dean could be dead!

Then Dean gave him a shove in the arm. Sam glanced over at his big brother. Dean stared intently at him. He felt a stinging, lingering pain in his wrists. Then he noticed a distinctive ache in his lower back. He was tired and worried, mostly about his little brother. It took Sam a moment to recognize a lower grade of the empathy he used to share with Dean. This was exactly how Dean felt at this moment, and from the physical aches and pains Sam could tell Dean was essentially okay. He relaxed instantly, offering his brother a quick smile of thanks. Dean shot the dog a glare, which Sam understood: help keep Hillary out of trouble.

Relieved to have something to do other than listen to testimony about him, Sam kept a sharp eye out for anyone or anything which might set the dog off. He had a pretty good idea of what might do it, too.

"Where'd Ralph go?" Dean whispered.

"If you'd been paying attention," Bobby hissed at his brother from the row behind them, "you'd know the next witness isn't here yet. What's wrong with you?"

Dean stiffened, looking a lot like he used to when Dad would reprove him. "Just a little distracted, I guess," he replied in a tight voice.

Bobby swatted at Dean's shoulder. "Get undistracted," he snapped back. "This is your brother they're talking about here!"

Sam wanted to grin at the hard glare Dean shot Bobby over that one. "Like I don't know that?" Dean demanded in a harsh voice.

Bobby sighed as a hand grasped Dean's shoulder. "Sorry," he muttered. "Guess I'm just a little worried." He looked at Sam. "Sorry, Sam."

Sam shrugged, keeping one eye on the dog. Like he didn't understand how his family acted when they were worried? Hell, if they had been acting any differently, Sam would worry more.

Ralph appeared in the center of court. "The witness has arrived and must be treated as a hostile witness. Please note the reason this witness is allowed here is by request of the defense. She will be unable to view her actual surroundings, so do not be surprised by her comments." He waved a hand at the marble chair. It filled with a slender woman with long blond hair.

"Ruby?" Sam breathed. What the hell was she doing here?

Dean punched him in the arm. _Don't act like you know her_, flowed through his mind in his brother's voice.

"Please state your name for the council," Gabriel intoned, her voice hard and cold.

"What is this?" Ruby demanded, her actions and voice bordering on hysteria. She tried to stand but could not move from the chair. "What are you?"

"I am asking the questions," Gabriel glared at Ruby. "You will answer them. What is your interest in Sam Winchester?"

Ruby grimaced. "You're here because of that lousy brother of his, aren't you?" She snorted. "Well, tell him not to worry, his precious little brother is more worried about oatmeal than talking to me."

"Really?" Gabriel asked. "And why exactly do you want to talk to him?"

Ruby crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the archangel. "Why do you care?"

"It's my business to care," Gabriel replied evenly. "Why do you want to talk to Sam? I understand you've been asking to use his name. Why?"

"I need his permission," Ruby said. She glanced around her. "What is this? I didn't mean to say that."

"So you can't use Sam's name without his permission." Gabriel paced in front of Ruby. "But why have you been trying to gain permission? To what end?"

Ruby sighed as she looked up. She struggled again to stand, to get away, but she could not move from the chair. Sam felt sympathy for her. She had never attempted to harm him, even going to the extreme of placing herself between him and other demons. Well, placing the woman she was possessing between him and other demons. Somehow, it didn't sound so noble when he thought of it that way.

"You!" Ruby pointed a finger at Michael. "You're behind this! I don't know what kind of spell you're using, but don't think I won't find out. And when I do..." she glowered at him.

Michael rolled his eyes with a slight head roll. In that instant, that very instant, Sam was struck with how familiar the action was. Mike looked exactly like Dean when his brother made the same movement. Holy crap. Sam's eyes darted between Dean, whose eyes had a distinctly annoyed green glow, back to Mike. They held themselves the same way, had similar facial expressions, even moved with the same confident, easy grace.

Oh, man... If anyone else noticed this, it might be Dean on trial instead of him. Surely influencing an archangel was a serious offense! Sam rubbed his hands nervously on his pants as Mike backed away from Ruby, responding to Gabriel's request to give the demon some room. Mike really looked kind of pissed off about it, like he would prefer just slamming her back to hell regardless of the outcome. Then Sam noticed Raphael watching Mike intently, and did he look worried.

Raphael caught Sam staring, but he didn't seem upset. He nodded subtly towards Dean. Sam's attention shifted back to his brother. At the moment Dean seemed fine, all things considered. Sam gave a small shrug in Raphael's direction. Raphael again nodded at Dean.

Sam reached over to grab his brother's shoulder. "Relax," he whispered. "She isn't going anywhere."

Dean leaned in close to whisper. "But why does she want your name, Sam?"

"I told you," Sam hissed back, "she wants to stop the legion. Demon against demon, Dean."

Dean shook his head, the annoyed glow in his eyes growing. "Got to be more to it than that, Sam."

Sam shrugged back. "So what?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not like she's going to get it."

Dean gave him a long look before leaning back and nodding his head. Sam looked over at Raphael, whose attention was riveted to Mike. Mike leaned back against the second table, appearing more relaxed now. How weird was that?

* * *

Hillary kept her eyes on the target. No way was the screechy one getting close to Food-boy. Not on her watch. She planned to find out exactly how tough the screechy one's leg was next time that woman came too close. Food-boy kept acting like they could hurt her. She snorted loud through her nose.

Book-boy scratched her neck again. At least he understood. Food-boy ought to be worried about Screechy, not her.

Uh-oh. Here came Screechy. Hillary started with a low warning growl; Screechy was too close. Screechy stopped and tilted her head, studying Hillary. Hillary growled a little louder until Food-boy grabbed her collar again. Oh, cats! Still not allowed to go after Screechy? She knew Food-boy didn't like Screechy either, so what was the problem?

"Really, Hill," Food-boy whispered in her ear, "stop attacking archangels. You can take on hellhounds and I might let you go after a demon, but no angels. Got it?"

Hillary whined at him. Couldn't she take just one little, tiny, hardly-noticeable lunge? Right into Screechy's lower leg?

"No!" Food-boy hissed in her ear as he yanked on her collar.

Disgruntled, Hillary climbed off the wall to lie under the bench between her boys. Fine. If they didn't want her protection, fine. She could just lie right here and ignore both of them.

"Dean!" Book-boy whispered. "You hurt her feelings!"

"So, Ruby," Screechy said, "what is your personal view of Sam Winchester?"

Food-boy leaned over her to whisper back at Book-boy. "Better than having Gabby smite her!"

Book-boy stared at Food-boy while the bad woman talked to Screechy.

"He was supposed to be our leader, reign over Hell on Earth. Honestly, I can't imagine what Azazel saw in him, but he has the name recognition I need to organize the others against the legion," the bad woman said. "If I could get him to listen to me and not worry about what kind of oatmeal his loser brother likes, maybe I could get some frigging work done!"

"Did you honestly use the word 'smite'?" Book-boy asked.

"Yes, I used the word smite!" Food-boy snapped back. "You got a better word for it?"

Hillary watched anxiously as her boys argued. She liked it better when they got along.

"I almost, almost had him convinced the other day..."

Hillary sat up to look over the wall again at the bad woman. She knew Food-boy and Book-boy were doing the same thing.

"...but then his rotten brother showed up and spoiled the whole thing." The bad woman made a rude noise, the kind Bobby fussed at her for. She really didn't like the bad woman talking mean about Food-boy like that. "I mean, if it weren't for his brother, I could have turned half the demons against the rest of the legion by now. The brother would have been a better choice for our leader. At least he's capable, tough, and, the way I hear it, mean as hell."

Hillary stood, her fur bristling with rage. She locked on to the bad woman. Nobody talked bad about her Food-boy! Flat-footed, she cleared the low wall in one leap. Growling loud, Hillary approached the bad woman slowly. Now she could see it, the dark shadow under the bad woman's skin. This one was similar to the hellhounds, a Bad Thing controlling the body. Hillary bared her teeth, the only thought in her mind to run off the Bad Thing the same way she sent those hellhounds packing.

"Hillary!" Food-boy's shout echoed in the room. Hillary ignored it. The bad woman couldn't be allowed to be in the same room with her boys, end of discussion.

Food-boy slid on his knees in front of her, blocking her with his body. It wasn't like she would ever hurt him, so she waited to see if he would get out of her way.

"And that dog!" the bad woman shouted. "There is something really wrong with that dog!"

"Shut up, bitch!" Food-boy snapped at her. "You're not helping!"

He scooted towards Hillary on his knees, both hands out like he might pet her. Hillary waited patiently, though her focus was on the bad woman. His fingers ran through her fur. Too late, she realized what he was up to. Once again, Food-boy had her by the collar. He struggled to get to his feet until Book-boy helped him up.

"Okay, seriously," Food-boy said as he scanned the room, "does anybody have a leash I can borrow?"

Oh, cats! Not a leash!!


	49. Chapter 49:Meanwhile Back at the Ranch

A/N: Angels and those subject to angelic constraints can lie if it will save someone's life – L&D ch2 & ch17

Hey Oddballs! We're back!! It's my theological advisor's busy season, so I'll post updates when I can.

**Chapter 49: Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...**

"If I may?" Bobby watched Raphael move back into the center of the room. "A suggestion to the council? It is not a requirement for the defendant to be present during defense or prosecution testimony. The Winchesters may return for the closing arguments." He glared down at Hillary, who was not holding back in her growling. "Perhaps without the canine companion."

Hillary barked at Raphael. Loud. Bobby shook his head at the archangel. Wrong thing to say, he thought, especially if it was true about Hillary sharing Sam's emotions. Sam didn't like to be left out. Never had.

Another warm breeze swept through the courtroom. Bobby had the impression the council liked Raphael's suggestion. Okay, fine. That meant he and Sam could get on with finding Dean without any angels meddling in their business. Not that Michael had meddled in a bad way, but Bobby would rather it looked like he and Sam did it entirely on their own. No need to get anyone in trouble.

The room went bright white, blinding him. When the spots faded from his vision, Bobby found he was standing in his living room. Sam stood facing him, seriously pissed off.

"Let's find that brother of yours," he told the youngest Winchester. "I think I've got all the ingredients we need." Bobby headed over to his desk where the ingredients and the spell book waited for him.

"Hope this doesn't take too long," Sam mumbled. "I'm pretty sure they have him tied up."

Bobby paused in his task to look the kid in the eye. "Really? You sure about that?"

Sam massaged his wrists. "Pretty sure."

"What's that about?" Bobby demanded with a wave at Sam's hands. Sam thrust them behind his back pretty damned quick for it to be nothing. Sam shrugged with an innocent face. Like that didn't look suspicious?

"Never mind," Bobby snapped as he focused on the book. He added the ingredients in the proper order, saying the incantation while Sam watched anxiously. He held a crystal suspended by a silver chain over a map of the city. As he repeated the incantation, the crystal wavered over the map. During his third recitation, the crystal pointed off at a thirty degree angle to a small neighborhood on the edge of town.

"Damn," Bobby breathed.

"What?" Sam demanded, moving closer. "What is it? Where's Dean?"

Bobby pointed out the area on the map. "In one of the worst areas of town. Used to be a nice neighborhood, until all the drug dealers moved in."

"Do we know what part of the neighborhood he's in?" Sam asked as he studied the map.

"I got the street," Bobby replied. "And I plan to go in loaded for bear."

* * *

Dean blinked away the bright spots from his vision. His hand was clutching Hillary's collar and the big dog was still growling like nobody's business. If he ever got the chance, he needed to buy a frigging leash.

"What are you doing?" Bela's voice was like nails scraping a chalkboard. "Sit down!"

Dean had to blink a few more times before the room came back into focus. Bela stood in the doorway leading to the front hall with her gun drawn and pointed at Hillary. Bitch. He tugged on the collar again until Hillary took the hint to shut up and come back with him to the chair. As he sat, Dean eyed the mattress on the floor. It was a real shame he couldn't stretch out right now, but he had no idea if he'd be able to get back up without help. Crap. So he sat in the lousy chair with the cross-piece which cut into his back just below his shoulder blades, right where it would make his upper back as sore as the lower part. Yeah, life these days was just frigging awesome, wasn't it?

"How did you get loose?" Bela demanded as she advanced on them.

"Loose?" Dean asked. "I'm right here, you stupid bitch. Do I look like I got out?"

"Your hands!" she snapped as Hillary started the low warning growl. Bela stopped a couple of feet away. He heard Hillary's 'too close' warning in the deep growl.

"Unless you want a permanent limp," Dean told her, "I'd suggest backing up a little. I'm getting real tired of holding Hill back."

Bela's eyes narrowed on him but she took two small steps backward. Hillary's personal boundary around him glowed faintly on the floor and Bela was still inside it.

"Two more," he instructed her. When Bela was safely outside of Hill's no-tolerance limit, Dean let go of her collar and shook out his aching hand. He shot the dog a glare. "Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass you are?"

Hillary snorted as she sat on his boots, her butt wriggling for space between his feet. Dean gave her the space she wanted, noticing his dog's attention never wavered from the bitch holding the gun. His attention was more focused on the creepy guy watching them. Dean didn't care for the strange, almost reverent look on his face.

"What's his flipping problem?" he asked Bela. Creepy guy sat up straighter.

"You didn't answer the question about your hands," she repeated.

Dean shifted his attention back to her. "It just came off," he answered truthfully.

She rummaged in a pocket before throwing another tie-wrap at him. "Put that on," Bela demanded.

Dean sighed as he held it between his thumb and forefinger. Between the trial and the way his back felt, he had had just about enough. The tie-wrap suddenly represented everything in his life he wanted to toss.

"You know what? Make me." He dropped it on the floor. He watched her weigh her options, whether to shoot him or Hillary for not putting on a stupid tie-wrap.

"And I promise," he said in a low voice, "if you pull that trigger you're going to hit me, not the dog."

Bela chewed her lower lip in indecision. Creepy guy cleared his throat. "I believe they are more useful alive, are they not?"

He had a strange accent, almost familiar but Dean couldn't quite place it. Bela grunted as she retook her seat.

"Fine," she snapped. "But we better get that proof soon."

"Proof of what?" Dean demanded.

"The angels!" Bela snapped. What? "We know all about your buddy Mike. Now all we need to do is see him, and then you're free to go." She smiled sweetly. "I promise."

Dean snorted, but his focus was still on creepy dude. His eyes shifted over to Bela briefly. "You really don't want that kind of trouble, lady. Trust me."

With Hillary watching Bela and him keeping an eye on creepy dude, they had all the potential bases for an attack covered. Dean found himself wishing Hillary hadn't made such a nuisance of herself during the trial. Those bench seats hadn't been comfortable, but they were better than this. Besides, right now, some place, angels were arguing over the fate of his little brother and Dean had no idea how it was going. If he were there, he would at least be able to gauge the arguments and try to figure out who was winning.

He sighed heavily as he ran a hand over Hillary's head. Was having the dog worth it? Then again, it wasn't like he would be able to change the outcome of the trial anyway, regardless. And she was pretty good company. It had been surprising to learn he had bonded her with Sam. (He would have to ask Mike later if there was an angel manual, or at least a list of 'cans' and 'can'ts'.) Well, it did explain a few things, like why she refused to let him out of her sight when she thought he might be in trouble. That was kind of the essence of having Sam for a brother. He might be a royal pain in the ass, but he was loyal and protective to a fault. Heck, it pretty much described being a Winchester. Yeah, Hill was definitely a Winchester now. No turning back.

The thick soft fur was soothing between his fingers as he stroked her head and neck. No, he wouldn't want to change it. Hill was stuck with them now.

Bela was really jumpy, startling at the slightest sound. The creepy dude just sat there, staring. Dean's mind started to drift as he watched for any opening, any means of escape. He wondered if there was a way to eavesdrop on the trial.

Then, with a jolt, he realized that the trial could be over, except perhaps for the closing arguments. They had paused time while he, Sam and Bobby were gone, so no one would be suspicious of their disappearance. Would they resume normal time for the duration of the trial, or complete it with time still paused? And if they had completed it, had they decided not to allow them to hear the closing arguments?

Crap.

Double Crap.

Double Frigging Crap.

Dean really missed being able to swear. It was like having his hands tied. He leaned back in the chair, kicking one foot over his knee. Creepy dude jerked back and Dean realized he must not have moved much in the past half hour. Tough.

"Don't tell me you're paying this crazy bitch?" he asked. Maybe he could talk the creepy dude into letting him go.

The man shook his head slowly. "My master has employed her."

"Watch it!" Bela snapped, her gun lifting to point at him instead of Hillary briefly.

Dean rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to creepy dude. "What's all this crap about angels and Mike?"

"I believe I told you to shut up?" Bela said just as creepy dude opened his mouth.

Fully irritated, Dean turned his head slightly to glare at her. "Didn't your mother teach you not to interrupt when the adults are talking?"

Her cheeks flushed with red. Dean continued to glare at her as he repeated his question. "Why are you people after angels? Like they exist."

Holy Crap! Dean nearly froze with the realization. He had been able to lie. That had to mean lying was a means of protecting their worthless lives. So... So what? What was he missing here?

"You know they do," the creepy dude said in a serene tone which sent chills up Dean's spine. "You have seen them, been blessed by their presence, something my entire order covets."

Covets. Good grief, where was Sam and his dictionary brain when you needed him? Dean shifted his eyes back to look at the guy. "Covets?" he repeated a little angrily. Maybe if he sounded like he knew what it meant, he wouldn't have to ask.

"Certainly," the man breathed out. "I can see it in your eyes." His eyes shone like he just met his favorite comic book hero and a second, colder chill settled into Dean's spine. "They have blessed you."

Ah-ha! So they wanted to be blessed by angels, was that it? "Dude," Dean shook his head sadly as he shifted in his chair again. Hillary pressed further back as if she were afraid Dean would do something stupid now. "First off, there is no such thing. Okay? Second, even if there were, do you really think someone you trapped and caught would be into blessing you for it? I mean, that's pretty warped, dude."

"I saw them appear out of thin air," Bela insisted loudly. "Their voices can't be recorded. How would you explain it?"

Dean gave her an incredulous look. "The basis for your whole 'there are real angels' theory is the movie 'Oh, God'?" A loud laugh tore from him. "Lady, you're even more screwed up than I thought. Really, therapy. Get some."

For the first time, he saw some doubt cross the creepy dude's face. Ah, it was starting to work. He made a point of checking his watch, hoping Sam and Bobby were getting closer to finding him. There was no telling how long he would be able to stall this crazy bitch. She might try to shoot him or Hillary before they arrived, and if she hurt Hill...

He tried to shake the disturbing thoughts from his mind as he raised his gaze from his watch. Then another thought entered his head. What if he could convince creepy dude that Bela was a total nutbar? Now that might be worth a try. After all, if she wasn't going to be paid, there would be no point in keeping him here.

"So, Bela," he said conversationally, "you've been seeing people appear out of thin air, huh? Anything else? Spaceships? Little green men from Mars?"

Her face flushed red as the gun shifted to point at him. Creepy dude frowned, more doubt crossing his face.

"Oh, that's right." Dean snapped his fingers. "The ones from Mars are gray, with the big eyes, right?"

The gun lowered, aiming at his crotch. What a bitch. She probably would, too. Dean held up both hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Relax," he said as he leaned back, the chair pressing painfully against his spine. Dean's breath caught in his chest as pain wrapped tightly around his ribcage. Spots danced in his vision as searing knives cut through him. The room tilted crazily, spinning out of control as the dark spots widened, blacking out the world around him in strange splotches.

* * *

Sam crept up to the first house within the cul-de-sac. He and Bobby had already checked out the five houses from the corner to here. Sam's nerves thrummed with anxiety and anticipation. They needed to find Dean. Now. Sam felt like he might explode if it took much longer.

He could tell a lot about the occupants of a house just by peering in the front window, if he could. This one had no curtains, so it might be abandoned which made it very promising. Then he heard a dog barking. A really big dog. Sam spun to see where Bobby was. Bobby waved for Sam to go around back.

The dog barks increased in volume and intensity, like Hillary was scared or angry. Or both. When he reached the back door, Sam could hear the barks clearly and the dog was screaming Dean's name in her panic. Shit! Without waiting or bothering to coordinate with Bobby, Sam kicked in the back door. It bounced violently against the interior wall as he rushed inside, gun ready.

Sam raced through the kitchen, drawn by the nearly hysterical barking. He burst into the den to find Hillary standing over his brother's body, keeping Bela and some guy away.

"Back up!" Sam ordered, holding his gun on them.

Bela lowered her gun slowly to the floor before stepping backward. The man was already against the far wall. Bobby rushed in from the front door. He growled a little, his face displaying his shattered emotions when he caught sight of Dean on the floor.

"Cover them!" Sam ordered as he dropped to the floor beside his brother. Hillary moved off of Dean carefully, her huge paws not coming close to stepping on him. Sam pressed a finger against his brother's neck, searching for a pulse. Steady. Strong. Oh, thank God. He lifted his gun and aimed at Bela, right at the place where her heart would be if she had one.

"What did you do to him?" Sam demanded, his voice slow and steady so she could not possibly misunderstand him. Bela's eyes were wide and her mouth opened and closed a couple of times without anything coming out.

"Nothing," the man replied, a bit too calmly for Sam's liking. The guy should be shaking with fear. "Dean simply leaned back in the chair and then he passed out. She did nothing." His head tilted to one side. "Perhaps he is being punished by God for claiming there are no angels."

Holy shit, a religious fanatic?

"You never did have standards for your clients, did you?" Sam asked Bela. She still did not answer, but she regained enough of her composure to glare at him. He spotted a piece of plastic on the floor. On closer inspection Sam discovered it was a large tie-wrap, which was a perfect cheap substitute for handcuffs any day, and would cause the kind of cuts in Dean's wrists Sam knew he had. The bitch!

Sam motioned for Bela to turn around. After Bobby nodded that he had the guy, Sam shoved her against the wall and used the tie-wrap to secure her wrists. She had several more tie-wraps in her purse. How convenient. Sam was able to secure her ankles and the religious fanatic as well.

"God will rescue me," the fanatic told him. "The angels will come."

"You better hope not," Sam told him as he hefted his brother off the floor. "And if one does, it better be Gabby and not Ralph, because I have a feeling Ralph would level this place."

He allowed Bobby to help him carry Dean out to the car while Hillary marched along beside them. With Dean inside propped up against the driver's side back door and Hillary beside him with her head in his lap, Sam closed the other back door and raced around the car. Bobby stopped him from opening the driver's door and took the Impala's keys out of his trembling hands.

"Dean'll kill you if you wreck his car on the way to the hospital," he said gruffly. "Now get your ass in the car and call that asshole doctor."

Sam rushed around the car as he pulled out his cell. By the time he dropped into the passenger seat, he had found the phone number he wanted. When Bobby pulled out of the neighborhood, Dean's doctor got around to answering his damn phone.

"Hello?"

"This is Sam, Dean Win-uh, Singer's brother. He passed out after leaning back in a chair. We'll have him at the ER entrance in..." He shot Bobby a questioning look.

"Ten minutes," Bobby answered without looking at him.

"Ten minutes," Sam parroted.

"Good, good," the asshole doctor replied. "Because I may have found the source of his back spasms. I'll be in the ER waiting on you."

The doctor hung up before Sam could say or ask anything else. He slid the phone into his breast pocket as he stared anxiously out the front window, as if he could will them to arrive at the hospital faster.

"Sam?" Bobby asked after they took a corner rather hard, wheels jumping the curb and throwing Sam against the door. He glanced back to check on Dean, but since his brother was still unconscious it was impossible to tell if the bad turn had made any difference. Hillary grunted her displeasure with Bobby's driving. "What did you mean about Ralph leveling the place?"

Sam gripped the armrest as Bobby careened around another car.

"Ralph and Mike are pretty tight," he explained. "kind of like me and Dean. I just figured he'd react about the way I would."

"And how would that be?" Bobby's voice was hesitant now, as if he didn't really want to know the answer.

Sam debated with himself on whether or not to answer this one. It was pretty personal. "Bobby, if you hadn't come in when you did, I might have shot Bela," he admitted. "My first thought was that she... did something... to Dean." Even now he could not admit he had feared Dean was dead when they arrived. "I can see Ralph going off on the person who caused Mike pain. You saw how hard it is on him, both of them, when it happens."

Bobby grunted, eyes still on the road. Even with the hospital in sight, Sam could not feel any relief. He wouldn't stop worrying until Dean was conscious. That asshole of a doctor had better have some kind of freaking answer this time!


	50. Chapter 50:Back Troubles

Thanks again to all you oddballs following this fic! And to my awesome theological adviser who, despite the fact it's one of her busiest times of the year, took the time to proof this for me and it's much, much better thanks to her.

**Chapter 50: Back Troubles**

Bela beat both feet, since they were strapped together, against the floor as she screamed in frustration. The representative of her client was way too calm and serene. His hands were secured in front of him, allowing him to pull a cell phone from his breast pocket. He pressed the call button and held it up to his ear.

"No, Master. The bait escaped. … Yes, I would agree. … Thank you, Master." He slipped the phone back in his pocket.

"What was all that about?" Bela demanded, wondering why in the hell the moron didn't call for help.

His too cool eyes focused on her. "About not making your next payment." He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. No matter what she said he refused to speak to her.

Damn it! Damn those Winchesters and damn the angels! She was sticking to stealing high dollar artifacts from now on. Any time she veered from what Daddy taught her, it meant nothing but trouble. It felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes later when there was noise from the front door. Bela hoped it was a nosy neighbor who would release her. She no longer cared about the creepy guy sitting next to her.

Large men in nice suits, much nicer than this area warranted, entered the house. They paid no attention to her as they released the creepy guy.

"There are signs," one of the nicely-suited men told the creepy guy.

"Where?" he demanded.

"Here." Another of the men held out his arms and motioned around him.

"You two," creepy guy motioned to two of the men, "check the rest of the house. You," he pointed out another of the men, "with me outside. And you," he walked up to the last man, "watch Bela." His piercing dark eyes settled on her. "She's tricky."

No one even offered to remove her restraints. Bela grunted in frustration, wondering what it would take to convince one of them to let her go. Well, this would probably be her best opportunity. She smiled and batted her eyes.

"Nice suit," she told him in her best seductive voice. He frowned. Crap. She thrust her chest out. "I can assure you, I know how to show my appreciation." She smiled broadly. "You don't even need to release my hands." Bela winked and eyed him suggestively.

The man crossed his arms defiantly and glared coldly at her. Yeah, this was just the way her luck was running lately. She would find a cult which leaned towards homosexuality. Just freaking perfect.

* * *

Daniel led Noah into the back yard of the run-down house. He attempted to mask his excitement over the fact angelic signs had been detected in their area. His master would be so pleased if he managed to procure an angel without the aid of the heathen Bela. Noah was the leader of their detention team, all specially trained since they reached the age of manhood at twelve years old. Since he had not noticed anything, Daniel assumed any angels in the area would not be in the house. Surely he would have felt the difference. He had sensed Dean's presence upon his arrival; an angel should produce a stronger presence.

He directed Noah to check along the right fence while he went left. As he approached the large tree in the far corner of the yard, his heart rate picked up. In the shade of the tree, shielded from view of the house by the trunk, was a large lump. When he came closer, the lump appeared to be an unconscious man with dark, wild hair and a physique to be envied.

"Over here!" he shouted excitedly to Noah.

Noah ran to his position. With a frown he pulled something, perhaps an ancient artifact, from his pocket. Daniel watched breathlessly while Noah recited an ancient prayer as he held the artifact over the fallen man. It glowed with a brilliant white light. Noah's face split in a broad smile.

"He's one of them," he said in a reverent whisper. Noah pulled a radio handset from his breast pocket. "We have the package. Back yard."

Daniel stood aside as the other three men came racing from the house. They surrounded the man on the ground. Each of the detention team removed strange objects from their pockets. One was like a necklace and went around the unconscious man's neck while another bound his wrists and yet others wrapped individually around his ankles. When the detention team appeared satisfied with their work, they surrounded the man and lifted him from the ground.

Daniel rushed ahead of the team to open the gate in the fence since it would be easier than attempting to carry him through the house. The team carried the angel out to their waiting white van. They placed the unconscious body reverently inside, not wanting to harm him any more than necessary.

_Could_ they cause harm to an angel? Daniel wondered. Angels were the warriors of God, but that did not mean they were indestructible. What evil horror had this one faced to be struck down like this?

As the van drove slowly through the depressed area, Daniel realized they were one person short. "Did no one bring the woman?"

Two of the men grinned as all three shook their heads. With a sigh, Daniel removed his cell phone from his pocket. He would call the local authorities anonymously to free her. Since she made this possible, she should not die for it. Death was reserved for disappointment. Torture followed by death was prescribed for failure. Bela might be incompetent and insane, but she had neither failed nor disappointed. As a matter of fact, the stupid woman had delivered beyond his highest expectations.

* * *

Raphael stood perfectly still as he listened to the painful moan of the wind. What did it mean? He had finally located Lilith and was attempting to learn her plans, but she was a treacherous enemy. Already he had lost her trail twice and had just picked it up again when he heard the wind.

"Michael?" he called out softly, fearing his friend would not answer. "Mike, I need you."

The wind moaned again and Michael did not appear. Never before, in all the millennia of their existence, had Michael ever failed to come when Raphael called. All thoughts of Lilith forgotten, Raphael searched for the bright line of connection between them. Its light was waning, as though Michael had been struck down in battle and lay dying. Panicked, Raphael followed it swiftly, faster than even light traveled.

He spotted Michael inside a white van. A half-dozen humans accompanied him in the human device. Raphael chose to appear in the road in the path of the van. If it hit him and vaporized the human inhabitants, so be it. It was unlikely mere humans had been able to take down Michael, but not impossible. Demons often seduced humans with promises and power, occasionally giving them the means to harm an angel.

The van veered sharply to his left. Raphael moved back in front of it. It veered again to the right, but the driver misjudged how the maneuver would work with the van's weight already positioned mainly on two wheels. It tipped precariously on two wheels before slamming down the other way, rocking violently. Raphael decided to help it out, causing a strong gust of wind to knock the van over onto its side.

He could barely see the van through his rage. The world outside of the van ceased to exist for him. Raphael ignored the human crawling out of the front door window. His focus was on reaching the back of the van. The doors swung rapidly open as he approached, showing him his worst fear.

Michael, pale and unconscious, lay unmoving covered with the kind of spellwork which could bind an angel. Without needing to look directly at any of them, Raphael reached out and caught a human attempting to escape by the throat. As the other humans ran for safety, Raphael lifted the human male off the ground as he turned to lock gazes. It was unlikely a human who sought to capture and bind an angel had the willpower necessary to beat him in a contest of wills. Especially now. After all, he was not facing down Dean Winchester.

"What have you done to him?" he demanded fiercely, desperately attempting to control his desire to break the human's neck.

The human clawed at his hand, but Raphael felt nothing. His hand was like stone, his will that of the relentless ocean. He shook the man gently, wanting an answer before the frail human neck gave way under his grip.

"Don't know," the human croaked, hands clinging to his wrist. "The others did the binding."

"His injuries," Raphael roared. Thunder cracked in the sky above them, the sound echoing down the street and between the homes.

"Found him," the man gasped as his eyes started to roll back in his head.

Disgusted, Raphael tossed the frail body made of mere flesh and bone away. He landed in a heap in one of the weed strewn yards. Raphael stepped gently into the van. First he checked Michael for injuries. Finding nothing physically wrong with Michael, which was highly disturbing, Raphael removed the binding materials. He laid his hands on his friend's chest again, attempting to heal whatever could be wrong. Still Raphael found nothing.

Winchester. This had happened the last time Dean Winchester fell to the so-called phantom pain. Raphael gathered Michael's limp and unresponsive body in his arms. As he stood he noticed wet drops on his friend's neck and chest. Then Raphael realized his cheeks felt hot and wet at the same time. No doubt the brothers would be able to explain this as well. Holding Mike close, he moved them to join the Winchesters.

* * *

A fearful resident of one of the worst neighborhoods in town peered through a crack in his always closed curtains. The noise of the overturning van and a huge thunderclap had drawn him to the window. Men ran from the overturned van when the back doors seemed to fly open of their own accord. Before his amazed eyes, a man holding another man disappeared into a blazing white flame. The flame continued after the men could no longer be seen. It devoured the van in white fury. Unlike his gas stove, the hotter the flame burned the whiter it became until he could no longer look at it.

When the white spots left his vision, he peered out again. All that was left of the men and the overturned van was a charred pothole the size of the van. He had expected to see the vehicle in flames, or at least its burned remains. Nothing was left but that hole in the street. With a shaking hand, he lifted his phone to call emergency services, not that the men he witnessed in the fire could be saved now.

* * *

Dean glanced around the room he found himself in. There were large movie posters plastered over the walls and all kinds of memory boxes stacked on the floor. He was in his happy place where there was no shouting, no arguing, and no freaking busybody people.

"Dean?"

He turned his head to find Mike standing off to one side, studying a movie poster curiously. "Where are we?"

"I'm pretty sure we're in my head this time," Dean replied. "At least there's no wheat."

Mike shook his head as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "May I ask why?"

Dean shrugged. "Beats me, dude."

Now the curious gaze was turned on him. Dean squirmed under the scrutiny. "I'm pretty sure you know," Mike insisted.

With a sigh, Dean leaned his head back to study the ceiling. Oh, yeah. That was where the really good pics were, he had almost forgotten. As his eyes traced the outline of a beautiful busty scantily clad woman, he said, "Honest Mike, the last thing I remember was that bitch Bela holding a gun on Hillary. I leaned back in the chair and woke up here."

"Dean."

He lowered his gaze over the seriousness of Mike's tone. "What?"

"What exactly happened when you leaned back in the chair? Did your back start to hurt?" Mike demanded.

Dean tried, but the truth was he really did not want to remember. "That would make sense," he admitted. "It's been really bothering me for a while, kind of like hot needles through my spine."

Mike shuddered.

"You're telling me," Dean agreed.

"Well, I'm guessing you must be in an awful lot of pain if we're both here," Mike said slowly and Dean really did not care for the implication. Mike's intelligent blue eyes leveled on him. "You know I can't take it, so you're shielding me from it. Isn't that right, Dean?"

"What?" Dean snapped. "You sound like you have everything figured out, what the hell do you want from me?"

Mike sat perfectly still, not even blinking, long enough to make Dean distinctly uncomfortable. "That didn't hurt," he said slowly.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"When you said, you know. It didn't hurt," Mike repeated.

"When I said...." Dean replayed what he'd said in his mind. "Hell?" He glanced over quickly. Mike still looked fine. Dazed but fine.

"I guess you're shielding us from all pain," Mike said softly. "I didn't expect this."

He was not having this conversation. Nope. Not happening. Dean stood up to grab his top Sammy box, where all the good pics of Sam were. He set it next to him on the floor before flipping the unsecured flaps open.

"Why isn't there any furniture in here?" Mike asked.

"What for?" Dean replied as he shuffled through some awesome shots of embarrassed Sam.

"To sit on," Mike said, but he sounded conversational and not pissed off. "What's this?"

"Sam stuff," Dean replied lightly as he turned around the picture of Sam with the plastic spoon sticking out of his mouth so Mike could see it. "Awesome, right?"

Mike raised a hand over the open box. "Do you mind? There doesn't seem to be a lot to do in here."

Dean shrugged. "Go ahead. This is all the good stuff." He pointed at the battered box on the bottom of the stack. "That and anything locked up is off-limits."

"Fine." Mike took out a sheaf of papers and pictures. As he shuffled through them, he started to chuckle. "You and Sam are a lot alike."

"We are brothers," Dean said defensively.

Mike grinned as he held up a bald picture of Sam. "I'm talking about how you collect embarrassing memories of each other."

Dean grinned back. "Hey, if you can't have a little fun, then what's the point in living?" He handed over a picture of them as kids, posing by a cowboy statue. "Dad took us to this crappy amusement park one year. Sam ate so much junk food he was sick for two days. It was awesome."

"What's awesome about that?" Mike asked as he dutifully looked over Dean's memory.

"No hunting," Dean said with a shrug. "We were just there to have fun. And Dad let us have spending money. I didn't have to swipe so much as a hot dog." He took the memory back and pressed it against the wall, where it stuck. "That was a good day."

"I'm starting to see why you two are such a good team," Mike said as he pawed through more of Dean's memories. "It's not just the fact you have a common history, it's because you really get each other. You think so similarly, it's almost like you can each tell what the other one is thinking."

Dean shrugged as he spread out memories in the form of photographs across the floor. "You kind of sound like you've had the same experience." He stole a glance at Mike's face. "Maybe like you and Ralph?"

Now Mike shrugged. "I never thought about it that way." His head tilted back and he frowned. "Why are there naked pictures of women on the ceiling?"

"So I can look at them lying down," Dean informed him. "Where else would I put them? Close your eyes if they're distracting. You were talking about Ralph."

He pretended to sort through his own memories, putting his favorite embarrassed-Sammy shots in one pile and the sentimental ones in another. Dean could tell them apart by touch, he didn't really need to look at them, but he figured Mike would appreciate what little privacy he could get. Mike leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Dean waited patiently, even after all the memories from the good box had been sorted.

"I guess we are like that," Mike said slowly, his eyes opening and focusing on Dean. "We've been brothers in arms for a long, long time. Longer than human history. You can get to know someone pretty well in that amount of time."

Dean nodded seriously. "He reminds me a lot of Sam." He pointed out one of his favorite Sam memories, when Sammy was about twelve and followed him everywhere and tried to imitate everything he did. "That's when we were kids."

"You did a good job with him," Mike said as he examined the memory. "You do know that?"

Dean shrugged. He glanced around the room to avoid continuing this conversation. "I wonder what's taking them so long."

Mike looked around curiously. "Taking who so long?"

"Sam and Bobby," Dean explained. "I was sure they would've found me by now."

* * *

A lined, ancient face appeared in his vision. "Master?" Daniel croaked, his throat tight and painful.

"Daniel," his master said, his breath heavy with the scent of garlic. Sunlight streamed from behind his master's head, framing him in a bright halo. Daniel smiled at the sight. "What happened? Where is he?"

Daniel swallowed hard, but his throat was still so tight. "Someone came," he whispered. His master leaned in closer. "He took Michael."

"Michael?" Master asked, his eyes dancing. "Was it really Michael?"

Daniel wondered why his master was not helping him, why he heard no sirens from an ambulance. "Maybe," he replied. "The other grabbed my throat." He tried to move, to show his master, but his arms were pinned. When Daniel tried to roll his head to the side, it would not move either.

"The detention team, Daniel," Master demanded. "Where are they? What happened to them?"

"Ran," he hissed. "Ran away."

Master's face hardened and Daniel recognized he was in trouble. He could expect punishment later. "A detention team would never run away, Daniel. What happened to them?" his aged voice demanded.

Daniel closed his eyes. His master did not believe him. There was no reason to remain awake if Master would not listen to the truth. Perhaps Master planned to leave him here to die of his injuries for their failure. It was no less than what he deserved.

* * *

Sam's eyes were pinned to his brother's still form. What the hell happened to Dean back there? They should've grabbed Bella and brought her along. He was certain he could make her admit whatever she did to his brother.

"Where's that doctor?" Sam demanded. "Shouldn't they be doing something?"

"Damned if I know," Bobby grunted, his ballcap twisted tight in one hand. He paced along the far wall, glancing occasionally at some of the equipment monitoring Dean. When he made his fifth circuit, and Sam was just about ready to body-slam Bobby to get the man to sit freaking down, a white light started to glow in the corner.

Sam waved at Bobby before the man could walk into the light. Startled, Bobby froze as the room flooded with brilliant light. Sam had to shield his eyes until it dissipated. When he dropped his hands, Raphael stood next to Dean's bed holding..Mike?

Bounding to his feet, Sam rushed to Raphael's side. "What happ-" But then he saw the archangel's face was streaked with tears, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

"Ralph?" Dean's nickname for Raphael was out of Sam's mouth before he could think about it. The two angels sunk to the floor, Michael held protectively in Raphael's arms.

"Tell me." Raphael's voice cracked on each syllable as his wet eyes locked on Sam.

Sam tried to swallow past the dry, hard lump in his throat. "We don't know," he managed to say, though his voice was barely above a whisper. He understood exactly how Ralph felt, the utter hopelessness and despair, like nothing in the world would ever be right again. The next thing Sam knew, his hand rested on Ralph's shoulder and hot tears dribbled down his own cheeks.

"I'm sorry."


	51. Chapter 51:Back with Dean and Mike

Hey Oddballs! Yep, back with another chapter! I couldn't leave you all hanging in the lurch like that for long.

**Chapter 51: Back With Dean and Mike**

Raphael felt Bobby Singer drop to the floor beside him. "Raphael?" he asked in a strong yet gentle voice. "You two should go to my place. Can you make it there, or do I need to drive?"

"Sam?" he pleaded with Dean's brother, ignoring Singer. "Fix this."

When wetness coursed down Sam's cheeks, Raphael recognized what it was. Those were tears. It explained why his eyes burned and his cheeks were wet. He was crying too. He wept for Michael. He wept for Mike.

"Go to Bobby's," Sam said in a strained voice. "I'm sure when they fix whatever's wrong with Dean, Mike will be fine."

Raphael risked locking gazes with Sam. "It is real, isn't it?"

Sam gave him a single, short nod. Raphael buried his face, and the fresh tears, in Mike's shoulder. Comforting hands rubbed his shoulders, but he did not want comfort. He wanted his friend, whole and well. Raphael moved them to Singer's home, where they could wait alone. He laid Mike out on the couch, where his friend had recuperated from the last attack. Raphael sat on the floor, his head resting against Mike's side with his eyes closed.

"You just had to bond with a human, didn't you?" he whispered to his unconscious friend. Ralph began to pray in a slow, soft voice. In prayer volume was not a factor, only Faith, Hope and Love. He hoped he possessed enough of at least one for his prayer to be heard.

So far, he really hated this millennium.

* * *

Bobby plopped down in a visitor's chair. "Hope my house is still there when I go home."

Sam noticed Bobby's focus was on Dean, so he suspected this was a way of dancing around the real topic.

"Probably will be," Sam replied as he slumped down in another chair. "I wonder where he found Mike." Hillary whined from her position under his chair. Sam reached down absently to stroke her muzzle.

Bobby shrugged, glancing over briefly. "Wherever it was, I'm guessing it's not there now."

Sam nodded, unable and unwilling to come up with a verbal reply. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, stopping outside Dean's door. His pulse sped up as he hoped it was Dean's asshole doctor with good news.

"Good afternoon," a male voice said brightly. Sam stood and turned slowly to face the asshole. He was beaming, like he'd just discovered the cure for the common cold. When his gaze fell on Dean, the smile dropped away. "Don't tell me he's still out. Dean should have woken up by now."

"Well he hasn't," Bobby snapped. "So what the hell is wrong with him?"

Sam knew better than to cross Bobby when the man sounded like that, like Dad. It was frightening and thrilling all at the same time. Frightening in the fact he did sound like Dad and thrilling because it meant Bobby cared so much. Their lifestyle did not afford them many people to care about them, so it always shocked and pleased Sam when he experienced it.

The doctor opened a file to show them some strange looking pictures, kind of like colorful radar. "Right here," he said, pointing to a dark shape in the colors, "is probably a bone splinter. We might have missed it in the initial surgery, or it may have formed afterwards. Considering the amount of initial damage, it would not be surprising for a new splinter to develop later."

"And?" Sam demanded, attempting to use his height and stature to loom over the doctor. He heard a low growl from Hillary, matching his mood.

"What is that dog doing here?" the doctor demanded. "This is a hospital!"

Hillary crawled out from her spot under Sam's chair with teeth bared and a steady growl.

"Lower your voice," Sam said sternly. "She doesn't like you too much as it is. Now tell me what you plan to do to help my brother."

Hillary's whine was sad and plaintive in the quiet room. Sam felt like shaking Dean's doctor until he came up with a magic cure.

"We can try surgery again," he said, "but with the splinter against the nerve bundle like this, there's no guarantee we won't cause some damage when it's removed. And any damage it has caused on its own could be permanent." Then the broad, bright smile returned. "However, I never expected Dean to be able to walk again after the initial injury, so I'd say the odds are definitely in his favor. They're setting up the OR now. All I need is your signature." He thrust a clipboard with a sheaf of legal documents for Sam to sign.

He stared down at the papers in disbelief. What did this mean? What choices did they have?

"That dog is going to have to leave."

Sam lifted his gaze from the papers to the asshole doctor's face. "Get out," he ordered, feeling strangely calm and detached.

When the doctor began to protest, wanting the forms signed before walking out the door, Sam jerked his head at Hillary. "Go ahead," he told her.

Hillary advanced on the doctor, growling and snarling. He lit out of there like his pants were on fire. Good thing, too. Sam was in the mood to allow the dog do whatever she felt like to the jackass.

"Sam?" Bobby sounded a bit fearful. "What are you up to?"

"It's real," Sam replied. The sense of calm overrode everything else, as he thought only of his brother. "That means it can be cured." Sam used to be able to call Michael, but that was from before. Could he call a different archangel now?

"Ralph?" Sam asked of the room around them. "Ralph, we know what it is. Come back."

The flash of light was blinding but short-lived. As Sam blinked away the spots, he could see Raphael standing alone in the middle of the room.

"Make it quick," the angel demanded.

Sam showed him the strange picture the doctor left behind. "They think it's a bone splinter and it's moved into Dean's spine, into the nerves. That's what is causing the pain."

Ralph's face became stern, determined. He took the medical picture. Shaking his head, he handed it back. "This means nothing to me. I'll have to see it for myself. May I?"

One hand hovered over Dean's prone form. Sam nodded eagerly, hoping for a cure without surgery or rehab. Ralph's hand lowered to rest on Dean's chest. A warm bright light glowed from Ralph's palm. His eyes closed and a second hand came to rest next to the first. Soon Dean was enveloped in the warm light. This time Sam did not need to look away. He watched the healing light and felt soothing emotions and mental images flood him. Every good time in his life washed through his consciousness, every moment which felt safe or happy. Watching Ralph attempt to heal Dean was like a drug and Sam could not tear his eyes away, not that he would want to.

When the light faded and Ralph stepped away, Sam watched the archangel's face anxiously.

"I'm not certain," Ralph spoke in a faltering voice, "but I believe I have removed the source of their pain. I shall return to Mike."

After the warm healing light, the bright flash of an angel's departure was jarring, again leaving them blinking away bright spots from their vision. Sam set the paperwork on the foot of Dean's bed as he pulled his chair closer. For now, he would wait to see if it worked. If Dean did not wake soon, Sam would have to approve the surgery, regardless of the risks.

* * *

Light streamed into Dean's room through the walls, filtered by his movie posters. He gave Mike a questioning look.

"I'd have to guess they found you," Mike informed his human friend.

Dean nodded, stacking his memories up to place back in the box. "It took them long enough."

"Why do you do that?" Mike asked. "One moment you..." He broke off in midsentence because the light felt familiar.

"Mike?" Dean stood beside him. "What is it?"

He reached out a tentative hand to rest against the wall. "I think it's Ralph," he said slowly. "He's trying to heal you. Oh, this is bad."

Dean moved to stand facing him. "What? Why is that bad?"

Mike met Dean's steady gaze. "One – it means this isn't a phantom pain, that you're really hurt, and two – If Ralph came when Sam called, he's really worried about something."

"Something being you," Dean replied. He ran a hand over his head. "Crap. We're in a whole lot of trouble, aren't we?"

Mike sighed as his hand dropped from the wall. "Probably."

Dean started to project concern. "Mike? What were you doing before you wound up in here?"

"Uh..." Mike thought back with a shrug. "I was coming to get you to hear the closing arguments. Ralph is supposed to, but he was excused from further participation in the trial due to personal issues. Plus, I think he's been out demon hunting again."

Dean grinned at him. "I'd love to see how he hunts demons. I'll bet..." his voice trailed off as his face creased with worry. "You were coming to get me? Where that bitch Bela was holding me? Tell me you didn't make it there."

Mike concentrated on remembering. "Well, I remember arriving in the back yard. I wanted to see what was going on in the house before yanking you out of there. I don't remember actually making it inside, though."

Dean groaned, both hands resting on his head. "Holy crap. That house was full of nutbar angel hunters."

"What?" Mike asked in disbelief. "Angel hunters?"

Dean nodded earnestly. "Better believe it. Bela is working for somebody who wants to catch you and force you to bless their freaky order. Something about how they covet a blessing."

Mike stared at Dean for a moment. "You have no idea what that means, do you?"

Dean shrugged. "Sam wasn't there."

Mike let out a short chuckle. "Covet means to desire strongly/long for. It's kind of an old-fashioned word." He sighed deeply as the implication sunk in. "That's not good either. Any order which needs a blessing must have been disowned by a religious entity. Sometimes splinter groups like that are peaceful and harmless, they just have a different way of doing things. Unfortunately in this day and age, it's more common for them to be violent and out of control."

"They hired Bela, so I'd go for crazy, too," Dean said.

Mike let out a deep breath. "Great. This is shaping up to be quite a year, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately," Dean agreed. "Hey, do you have idea where I can get a good dog leash?"

Mike shook his head at his friend. "Uh, no. Besides, I doubt it would do you any good. How well can you control Sam?"

Dean snorted loudly.

"That's about how well you can expect to control that dog," he informed Dean.

"Well, that's just great," Dean sniped. "How the hell can I keep her from attacking archangels?"

"Work on Sam," Mike suggested. "If his attitude changes towards us, so will the dog's."

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. "It just can't be easy, can it?"

The light permeating the room began to fade. Mike waited cautiously as the room dimmed back to normal.

"Well?" he demanded of Dean. "Was Ralph able to heal you?"

Dean glared at him. "How should I know? Dude, I'm stuck in here, too."

Mike glared back. "It's your head, Dean. You can leave any time you..." The room around him spun rapidly, posters swirling into a chaotic blend of riotous color. His stomach lurched dangerously and Mike slammed his eyes closed against it.

A hand gently stroked through his hair. There was some pain, like a dull echo from a distance, barely enough to acknowledge. A familiar presence was at his side, comforting and reassuring.

"Get your hand out of my hair, Ralph," Mike grunted.

Strong hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him up to a sit. Mike tried opening his eyes, hoping for a steady room. They were in Bobby's house on the lumpy sofa. Ralph looked more worried than Mike could remember having seen him in the past few centuries.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked his oldest friend.

"Quiet," Ralph ordered as he was maneuvered around to sit on the sofa properly. "Are you still in pain?" Ralph demanded.

Mike shook his head. "I wasn't in pain."

Ralph glared hotly at him. "Impossible. You were unconscious, unresponsive. The last time that happened was because of Winchester's pain."

Mike leaned back and stretched. "I know. I suppose it was really bad this time, because Dean shielded us from it." He shrugged at the shocked expression. "Being inside a human mind can be quite confining."

Then relief spread over Ralph's face. "So it worked?"

"It worked," Mike confirmed. "You healed him."

Ralph gave him a puzzled look. "You knew it was me?"

Mike groaned as he stood, not wanting to see his friend's face when he said, "Dude, I'd know your touch anywhere. So, having any luck with that demon hunt of yours?" He turned to face Ralph. "I don't suppose you'd like some help?"

"After your closing arguments," Ralph told him sternly. "You've been breaking enough rules lately, Mike. You don't want to be busted down to a rank and file angel."

Mike shrugged. The only big downside to that would be if Ralph refused to hang out with him anymore.

Ralph gave him a shove in the shoulder. "You don't," he said sternly. "Now grab the Winchesters and finish up the trial. Give me a call when you're done and you can join my hunt."

Mike grinned over his friend's reaction. "So. You were really worried about me this time, huh?"

With a growl, Ralph vanished in a brief flash of light. Mike chuckled to himself before heading to collect the Winchesters and Bobby.

* * *

"Dean!" Sam's voice was one of the most irritating sounds in the whole freaking world, especially when it sounded like he was in trouble.

Dean cracked his eyes open slowly. The light in here was a little bright, but not too bad. Blurred images hovered over him. After blinking a few times, he could make out Sam's and Bobby's faces.

"Hey," he said weakly. "Anybody get the plates on that semi?"

Relief flooded the room, no doubt directly from Sam. "Hey Big Brother," he said with a silly grin. "How's the back?"

Dean scowled. "Still with the euphoria?"

"Answer the damn question," Bobby snapped as Sam crowded closer to the bed.

Dean moved around experimentally and his back was sore and slightly more painful than usual, but that was it. There were no searing hot needles of pain. As a matter of fact, he discovered if he stretched in a certain direction there was no pain at all, which had not happened since before being body-slammed by a demon.

"Actually, I feel pretty good," he declared.

Sam looked at him suspiciously before resting a hand on his shoulder. Then Sam's eyes closed and his brow furrowed in concentration. After a long moment, his eyes opened and the silly grin was back. "He's telling the truth," Sam declared, "Ralph did it!"

"Ralph?" Dean asked before he remembered what Mike had said. "Oh, right. Did he just show up, or did you call him?"

Sam appeared startled. "Uh, well, both. First he showed up with Mike, who was totally out. Then I called him back to help you. Oh man, I hope this wasn't too rough on Mike."

"It wasn't," Dean confirmed as he sat up. Hillary's head appeared above the bed. Dean leaned forward to give her a scratch.

"How would you know?" Bobby demanded. "You were just as out of it."

"He did something," Sam said slowly before Dean had a chance. "Didn't you, Dean? Tell me you didn't show him any of my boxes."

Dean grinned. "Dude, you started it when you gave him that copy of Dean's Most Embarrassing Moments."

"Just the top box?" Sam asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah, just the top box," Dean replied with a shrug. "Where all the good stuff is."

"What in the hell are you two talking about!" Bobby demanded in a hoarse whisper.

Dean winced, but even hearing 'hell' didn't hurt as much as it had before.

"Is that how you knew Ralph came? Because Mike was with you?" Sam asked, ignoring Bobby's rant.

"Duh, Einstein," Dean snapped, swinging his legs out of bed. "Now where're my clothes? Let's go."

"With you where?" Bobby shoved him back on the bed. "And I'd better start getting some answers around here. Neither one of you is too big to put over my knee!" His hot glare had Dean turning to Sam.

"I think I'm a little old for that," Mike's voice resonated in the room. "It's time for closing arguments. Let's go." He frowned at Dean's hospital gown. "Dude, you really should wear clothes in court."

Dean glared at the archangel. "I thought Adam and Eve ran around naked?"

Mike's face split in a grin. "Times change. Want to borrow my spare robe?"

Dean could only stare back in his horror. Sam chuckled at his side, grabbing him by the elbow. "Dude, I'll get some clothes from the trunk. Can you wait ten minutes, Mike?"

Mike looked down at his bare wrist. "I'm timing you."

Sam's big feet made loud, echoing stomps in the halls.

"He is quieter on hunts, isn't he?" Mike asked, lifting his head.

"He is now," Dean answered in unison with Bobby.

"Sounds like something was missing from your box," Mike said.

"What box?" Bobby shouted, pressing between them. "Somebody tell me what's going on!"

"Dean can explain it later," Mike said with a wave of his hand. A gentle breeze blew through the room and Dean noticed Bobby relax a little.

After Sam came racing back with an armload of clothes, Dean was ready to face the council. He hoped.


	52. Chapter 52:Closing Arguments

**Chapter 52: Closing Arguments**

Gabby greeted them as they entered the court room. She smiled warmly as she shook even Sam's hand. "We're ready for the closing arguments. It's a little unusual for the prosecution to come for you, but Raphael had to be excused."

"Why?" Sam asked curiously.

"He felt he could no longer be an impartial mediator," she explained. "Take your seats. I've been working on my closing." Gabby's face beamed with pride. "I think I'm ready."

Sam followed Bobby and his big brother to the spectator benches. Hillary sat between them, taking her usual position of peering over the low wall. She was not growling constantly this time, though.

"How's the back?" Sam whispered, leaning in close to Dean's ear.

Dean cleared his throat nervously. "Okay," he whispered back. When Sam shot him a hard look, Dean's face broke into a grin. "Really, Sam. It hasn't felt okay since I broke it. It's okay now."

"**You** didn't break it," Sam reminded him sternly.

Dean elbowed him in the ribs. "Knock it off. Besides, it was my fault anyway."

Sam sighed sadly as he watched Hillary lean into Dean's leg. More of Dean's misplaced guilt. He wished there was a way of showing Dean his worth, that everything which went wrong was not only _not_ his brother's fault but that thanks to Dean's ability things that did go wrong were typically never fatal. Leaning against the hard bench, he worried again about Dean's back. Sam removed his jacket and outer shirt. He pushed on his brother's shoulder, wanting Dean to lean forward. Sam then draped his jacket and shirt over the hard backing to provide at least a little cushion. Dean gave him a quizzical look as he leaned back.

"Better?" Sam demanded.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean replied slowly. "But Sam, you really don't..."

"Shh!" Bobby warned from Dean's other side. "They're starting."

Mike stood to address the council. "We are here to determine the extent of demonic influence on a human. It has been proven that Sam Winchester, the defendant, was infected with demon blood from the time he was six months old. The demonic infection influenced his life, every decision he ever made. Otherwise how could the abandonment of his family be explained? How could anyone turn his back on such devoted and supportive family members unless his decision was demonic in origin?

"Granted, Sam never killed anyone. Any human, that is. He has killed more than his fair share of supernatural creatures. Perhaps it was simply his family's influence, but perhaps he found a release for his demonic urges. While a case could be made to show that Sam has been fighting this infection his entire life, it is still proven he has been under demonic influence the whole time. The prosecution argues that Sam Winchester has been demoniacally influenced, and the evidence supports this."

Mike shot a glance at Dean which was clearly apologetic. Dean shrugged as he bumped shoulders with Sam. He had a pretty good feeling that if things didn't go their way, Mike would still be on their side.

Gabby stood now. It was kind of odd seeing each individual go through proper court motions without Ralph there to announce them.

"Certainly Sam Winchester has been under demonic influence," Gabby began. "There is no arguing the fact. However, has he been a menace to anyone while under the influence? The answer to this question must be a resounding no. Sam Winchester has consistently shown mercy to those around him, even the things he hunts. Some might argue showing such mercy to creatures would be more evidence of the influence, but it is not. It is, most simply, Sam's true nature showing through. All his life he has fought against the baser instincts caused by his infection. Now that the infection has been cured, Sam is so happy and upbeat that his family actually now finds him annoying, yet it was this very nature which allowed Samuel to stand firm against the infection. Perhaps he put too much of himself into his hunts. The same could be and has been said of his brother, Dean Winchester.

"As you all know, Dean Winchester is the first human to successfully face down an archangel. Dean's primary devotion is to his little brother. His second is hunting the evil crawling across the face of the world. Had Sam truly fallen to evil infection, he could never have earned such devotion from his brother. Even if you choose to believe no other argument, the simple fact Sam comes first for Dean Winchester should be enough. The one man to face down our Michael, the man now accepting his new role and responsibilities with such grace and ease, the man who places himself between our kind and his brother when he feels he and his brother are threatened, should be the yardstick by which we all measure ourselves. Our kind shall be improved by the addition of this remarkable human. And his brother."

Stunned, Sam glanced at his big brother. Dean's eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly open. Bobby, looking exactly the way Sam felt, turned to Dean. He settled a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed. Just squeezing his brother's shoulder was not going to do it for Sam, however. Instead he wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, despite the fact Sam had avoided hugs from Dean since he was about fourteen, and drew his big brother into a tight hug. Yeah, he owed Dean. Big. Always had.

"So are we done?" Mike asked Gabby. She nodded at him. With clear hesitation, Gabby opened her arms. Mike smiled as he stepped into her embrace. Then he picked her up and swung her around. After setting her back on her feet and planting a kiss to her forehead, Mike headed straight for them. Gabby stood in the center of court behind him, eyes bulging and unmoving. Mike hopped easily over the short wall separating them from the court proper.

"Ready?" Mike demanded with a grin. "Let's get out of here," he said under his breath as he grabbed Sam and Dean by the arm. Dean reached for Bobby as the court flashed out of sight.

When the bright light faded from their vision, Sam saw they stood in the middle of Bobby's house. Bobby was rubbing his eyes and Hillary sat in the middle of them all.

"I need to go find Ralph. We're demon hunting. So unless you need something?" One of Mike's eyebrows arched, an exact imitation of Dean's questioning look.

"Nah, go have some fun. We'll look into those angel hunter whackos for you," Dean assured him.

"Great. Holler if you need me." Mike gave Dean a quick shove in the arm before disappearing in a flash of light, barely long enough to cause dancing spots in Sam's vision.

"Angel hunters?" Sam asked. "What angel hunters?"

"I'll tell you all about it while we raid Bobby's kitchen." Dean turned both Sam and Bobby around to face the direction of food. "Let's go, I'm starving."

* * *

Hillary sat under the kitchen table watching intently for tasty morsels to be handed out. Food-boy and Book-boy and Bobby were talking about something, but she didn't care. She sat closer to Food-boy, he was more generous with the hand-outs. Once Bobby slipped her some meat and she almost missed it.

A whimper from the far corner of the kitchen, where That Dog's bed was, stopped the table conversation.

"Hang on," Bobby said as he pushed back from the table. He knelt down next to That Dog, one hand gently rubbing over That Dog's head. Hillary grumbled to herself, remembering when Bobby used to treat her that way.

Then a warm hand rubbed her head and one of her ears. She leaned into Food-boy's touch, enjoying not only the attention but the warm emotions and feelings of belonging. Her tongue rolled out of the side of her mouth as she rested against Food-boy's leg, closing her eyes and soaking up the attention.

"Jealous mutt," Food-boy said. She knew he was not upset, could feel it in the strokes in her fur. Well, she supposed as long as Food-boy and Book-boy didn't take too much of a liking to That Dog, she could tolerate him.

That Dog whined again when Bobby ran a hand along his back and left flank. Hillary nudged Food-boy's hand. Food-boy peered under the table at her.

"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Hillary nudged his hand again, trying to tell him That Dog's leg was hurt.

"Really?" Food-boy held her head in his hands, looking into her eyes. "I can try to help him if you want."

She whined at him. If That Dog wasn't hurt and whiny, all the attention would come back to her. Of course he needed to help That Dog!

"Okay, Hill," he said as he pushed back his chair.

Food-boy started to kneel down on the floor when Book-boy jumped up to help lower him down. Food-boy placed a gentle hand on That Dog's leg.

"Here?" he asked looking at That Dog. That Dog whined again, going on and on about what hurt and where. "Easy, boy," Food-boy crooned as his other hand went on That Dog's neck. "Just relax."

Gentle warm light glowed around Food-boy's fingers. That Dog relaxed instantly, stretching as the pain disappeared. Food-boy ran his hands over That Dog's neck, back and all four legs. When the light stopped, Food-boy looked at Bobby.

"He's beat to hell, Bobby. I think he'll be a little more comfortable now, but don't expect much." Food-boy sighed before turning on his knees to Book-boy. Book-boy helped him to his feet. "He's probably going to sleep an awful lot as he recovers."

"Recovers?" Bobby asked in a hopeful voice. "You mean you think he'll make it?"

Food-boy slapped his leg as he headed back to the table. Hillary jogged close by his side until it was time to slip under the table so she could sit by him.

"Sure he'll make it, Bobby," Food-boy declared. "He's a tough one. Have you named him yet?"

"Uh, no." Bobby sat in the floor by That Dog, carefully rubbing the dog's head. "I didn't want to in case he didn't, uh, make it." Bobby shrugged.

Oh, Bobby. What a softie.

"Might be time," Book-boy suggested. "Unless he already has a name? Dean?"

"What?" Food-boy demanded. "Am I supposed to go around talking to dogs all the frigging time?"

"De-an," Book-boy said in his warning voice.

Hillary rested her head on Food-boy's knee. Whatever he wanted to do was fine with her. Book-boy was on the verge of being bitten. Again.

"Hey, mutt," Food-boy called out. "You got a name?"

That Dog let out a mumble and a whine, which left Food-boy chuckling and Hillary highly amused.

"Better give the dog a new name," Food-boy told Bobby.

Hillary couldn't help herself. She rushed over to That Dog's side and nosed his head. She asked him what a big, bad military dog was doing with a name like Francis. Then she started to double-check that he was indeed male, which earned her a snap at her ear. Hillary let out a growl as she turned to face 'Francis' again.

"Hill, come on," Food-boy said in a calm voice. "He's beat up enough. Want some more turkey?"

Turkey? Oh, yeah! She trotted back to her spot under the table to gently remove the tasty treat from Food-boy's fingers.

"His name is Francis?" Book-boy asked with a laugh. "Are we sure he's male?"

"Shut up," Bobby snapped. "Frank? Nah. Maybe..." He chuckled. "Reagan. Yeah, he looks like a Reagan. How many attempted assassinations were there on him?"

"Showing your age, Bobby," Food-boy teased as those wonderful fingers massaged her ear.

"Shut up, boy," Bobby replied, but Hillary could not scent any hostility in the room. She let herself relax, dropping down to rest on Food-boy's boots. It had been a long freaking day, she realized as her eyelids became too heavy to hold open.

* * *

"So when do we know the outcome of the trial?" Bobby asked as he looked at his kitchen table. Dean was sound asleep, head propped up on his fist. Sam appeared ready to fall out of his chair at any moment.

He had to leave his dog's side to tend to the stubborn-ass Winchesters. First Bobby forced Sam to his feet, knowing he'd need help with Dean. Dean was shockingly compliant as they forced the older boy to go to bed upstairs. Sam crashed on the other bed. When Bobby made it back to the kitchen, both dogs were sleeping soundly and rough dog snores filled the small room.

Well, a good idea's time had come, Bobby figured. He returned to his own couch to stretch out. It had been a hell of a day, he thought as he pulled his cap down over his eyes. A hell of a day.

* * *

Mike peered through the dark place for Ralph. Darkness was not merely the absence of light, it was often the presence of evil. He was in the middle of a gathering place for evil. Where was Ralph and what in the Lord's name was he doing here?

On the surface it appeared to be a bar, the type of place the Winchesters liked to frequent. The people in the bar were doing normal kinds of things, drinking, playing bar games like darts and pool. It was the people themselves who were suspect. Each person had a deep shadow writhing just below the human skin, undulating obscenely. Mike resisted a deep urge to rip every dark shadow out and cast it to Hell. There were rules, and horrible consequences for breaking those rules.

He felt a pull to the back of the bar. There he found Ralph perched on a high bar stool watching a pool game with both arms crossed over his chest. Mike sidled up beside his friend, coming close enough to brush against Ralph's arm. Ralph's acknowledgement was a flicker of eye contact, but in that flicker Mike learned all he needed to know. This was information gathering. This was also the reason Ralph was so good at demon hunting, far better than Mike, he had patience in places like this. Mike would have preferred to level it, leaving nothing but dust. Instead he pulled up a stool to sit beside Ralph and watch his back.

"Who?" he asked quietly.

"Demon in the corner," Ralph replied under his breath. "Works for Her."

Mike glanced in surprise at his friend. He had no idea Ralph was after one of the big ones this time. Granted, Ralph rarely messed with the minors unless they were on a killing spree, but Mike had not expected him to be after Lilith.

"It's over?" Ralph asked him.

"Finally," Mike confirmed. "What's the plan?"

A cold smile spread over Ralph's face. Oh, awesome. They were going to have fun! Mike settled in to wait for Ralph to make his move. It had been way too long since they worked a demon over together. He hoped he remembered all of Ralph's tricks.

* * *

Bela waited for the cops to leave the holding area. Arrested on suspicion after finding her restrained in an abandoned house? What a load of American crap. There was no way she would be sticking around to stand in front of a judge.

She slipped the key to her cell out of her pocket the instant the holding area was clear. Some of the other prisoners gaped at her, but she ignored them. Then, inspired, Bela decided to release them all. In the ensuing chaos, she should be able to slip out unnoticed.

Perfect. And then back to being a very good thief. No more mucking around with anything still alive, it was just asking for trouble.

* * *

Ruby stared at the room she was in. It was some kind of bar. Most of the patrons appeared to be possessed. What was she doing here? There was a beer by her hand. She grabbed it, trying to fit in. In front of her two demons played darts for a small midwest town.

Disgusted, Ruby moved through the crowded room. A pool table against the back wall caught her attention. As much time as she had spent shadowing Sam Winchester, she had picked up an interest in the game. Recognizing one of the demons playing as a small-time demon, one who usually picked a backwater town and caused all sorts of non-fatal nasty things to happen to the residents which was usually attributed to Bad Luck, she leaned against the wall to watch the game.

Glancing around after a particularly good shot, Ruby noticed the demon watching from the far corner of the room. Now this was one demon Ruby had no desire to cross. She backed away slowly until she realized there were two men watching the demon. The two men seemed familiar. Then it hit her. One of those men was the witch who could stick her feet to the ground, and he had a friend.

She glanced between the witches and the nasty demon. Clearly the witches were after the nasty demon. Honestly, no matter how it went down, Ruby would be pleased with the results. She decided to slip out the back way before anyone here recognized her. Ruby was not exactly popular with other demons.

It was a shame she had not known that just outside the backdoor was a confrontation between a group of Lucifer worshipers and Azazel cultists. Both considered her a traitor.

* * *

Bright light pierced Daniel's eyelids. He squinted against it. The room he was in was white and people bustled back and forth.

"He's awake!" a voice called out.

Many faces peered into his, bright lights assaulted his eyes and hands moved his arms and legs. He laid there, unwilling to speak and risk further punishment.

"There may be psychological damage," a man's voice intoned. "It would explain his unresponsiveness. Put in an order for an evaluation."

"Yes, doctor," another voice replied. "Right away."

Daniel could not tell how long it was before a man came into his room with a chart and a pleasant smile. He would have liked to run, but the room he was in had a lock. In the order, when a man in a white coat appeared with a pleasant smile, it was usually related to punishment.

"Good morning," the man said in a pleasant tone, which put him further on edge. He felt his breath coming in short and rapid huffs. "Easy now. I'm Doctor Morgen. I'm just here to talk."

Talk? Speaking without being spoken to by a higher member of the order was forbidden. Daniel pressed back into his pillows, knowing this was a trap.

"Would it help if I told you I have already spoken with your employer, Mister Cardinal?" Doctor Morgen asked.

No, honestly, it wouldn't. Now he knew that this doctor worked within the order and this was a test of his convictions, his faith. Daniel was determined to pass the test and return to serving the order. He might no longer be allowed to serve the Cardinal himself, but surely his services would still be needed. Surely. Daniel closed his eyes so he would not have to see Doctor Morgen speaking. He would pass this test. He would.


	53. Chapter 53:The Breaks

**Chapter 53: The Breaks**

Hillary woke with a start. Her eyes took in the whole kitchen at once. Where were her boys? Gripped with panic, she leapt to her feet. Hillary scented the floor, but her boys' scent permeated the entire house.

Cats!

First she checked the front door, but it was closed. Their scents were here, of course, but before she crashed through the front window again maybe she should check the rest of the house. Hillary raced into the sitting room, but only Bobby was in there. He jumped when she skidded to stop beside him.

Not here.

Hillary ran up the stairs taking them two at a time, her weight making the steps creak with each leap. The door to her boys' room was open. Feet sliding on the wood floors, Hillary skidded into the door, slamming it against the wall. People in the beds jumped to their feet.

Her boys!

Barking joyously over having found them, Hillary jumped up and down and in circles. She raced around the room, so happy they were still here and had not left without her. When she found herself standing on one of the beds looking Food-boy in the eye, she froze. Oh, cats and kittens. She'd done it now, hadn't she?

Food-boy's face was stern as he approached her. Then, when he was close, he smiled. Food-boy threw his arms around her and hugged her, with her head over his shoulder. She sighed as he held her, his very touch telling her she could not be forgotten and would not be left behind. Hillary let her head fall down over his shoulder to rest on his back, the closest she could come to hugging him back without human arms.

"You crazy mutt," he muttered against her neck, "paranoid much?"

Food-boy leaned back, away from her, but his hands continued to rub through the fur on her neck and head. "What's the big idea, waking us up like that? Huh? We can't take a frigging nap?" He pulled away with a gentle slap against the side of her head. "Come on. Off the bed."

She stepped down slowly, knowing how much trouble she had to be in. Hillary held her head low as she peered up at Food-boy.

"Well, now that we're up, how about we look into those creepy angel hunters, Sam?" Food-boy turned to look at Book-boy.

"Sure, Dean." Book-boy shrugged. "The sooner the better, right?"

"Right," Bobby answered from the doorway. "And you two better be planning on taking that mutt with you when you leave. I'd hate to see what she'd do if you tried to leave her behind."

Food-boy laughed. "Leave her? Bobby, she's a Winchester. You know I don't leave family behind."

"Come on," Bobby waved them out of the bedroom. "Let's go check out my police scanner. If I'd been thinking, I would'a done that while the rest of you napped."

Hillary slowly followed Food-boy down the stairs. She heard Book-boy talking to Bobby behind her.

"Don't worry about it, Bobby. It's just been a heck of a day."

"Boy," Bobby replied, "you said it."

* * *

Michael stretched his neck from side to side, hearing it pop. It never did that before Dean faced him down. Ah well, another odd quirk he would have to learn to live with.

"I've heard," the demon smiled coldly at him. "Tried to take on a human and lost? Must be losing your touch, Michael," he taunted.

Michael ground his teeth together. He doubted he would be able to keep it together long enough for Ralph to do his thing.

"Easy, Mike," Ralph said, stepping between them. "I think you know Michael is one of the last of us you would want to take on."

The demon sneered. "Way I hear it, he's weak. After the human beat him, he's been falling down on the job."

Falling down on the job! A fresh surge of anger coursed through Mike. Joining Ralph on a hunt may have been a bad idea. He tried to maneuver around Ralph, but his friend knew him a little too well. Ralph kept between them, even going so far as holding one hand on Mike to keep him in place. But he could not help the growl escaping his throat or the anger which blazed in his eyes, which of course was exactly what the demon was going for.

"All we're after is a little information," Ralph said. His voice sounded calm, but Mike could hear the undercurrent of anger. "There's no need to get nasty."

The demon, wearing the skin of a male body builder, sneered at them. "Nasty? I wasn't being nasty. If I wanted to get nasty, I'd tell you all the talk about how much a certain archangel has changed, and the fact he's about one violation away from being busted down to join us."

The next thing happened so fast, Mike would never be sure exactly what had happened. All he did was blink, shocked even a demon would say something like that about him. When his eyes opened again, Ralph had the possessed human pinned against the outer wall of the bar. One hand was inside the human's mouth, drawing the demon out in the most painful way possible, while Ralph's eyes glowed with a rage Mike had not seen since before the time of Abraham.

"Ralph!" Alarmed, Mike wrapped one arm over Ralph's shoulder and across his chest. He pulled his friend back slowly, his other hand trying to force Ralph to release the demon before he killed the host in the process. "Easy, Ralph," he whispered. "We want information, remember?"

Ralph allowed Mike to pull him away and release the demon. Black demon smoke returned swiftly to the body-builder, who coughed and choked on the demon's return. Mike kept a tight hold on his old friend while the demon composed itself.

"What was that?" the demon gasped, one hand on its throat. "You can't do that. There are rules!"

Mike chuckled as he released Ralph. "Rules? Since when has your kind paid attention to the rules, other than to find ways of circumventing them? Look." He pressed a hand against the possessed man's chest. "All we want is a little information on your boss, what she's up to. Otherwise..." Mike shrugged. "We do it Ralph's way."

"Ralph?" Pitch-black eyes scoured first him and then Ralph. "What happened to you?"

Mike grinned at the demon's discomfort. "Winchester," he whispered and the demon scowled at him. "Not going to cooperate?" He glanced back at the other archangel. "Hear that, Ralph? Looks like we get to do it your way."

The demon tried to escape, but he and Ralph boxed it in.

"Really, Mike?" Ralph asked, one hand gathering up a fistful of the possessed body's shirt. "My way? Slow?"

Mike nodded, locking eyes with the demon. "Sure. Why not? I have a feeling that body is mostly dead anyway."

"There are rules," the demon repeated quickly. "You're breaking the rules."

"Us?" Mike asked innocently. "Two archangels? No, I don't think so. Are we breaking any rules Ralph? I mean, he did attack us first, right?"

Ralph's eyes still glowed with rage. "That's the way I see it."

Mike grabbed the poor man's jaw intending to wrench it open so Ralph could extract the demon.

"Winchester!" he shouted through Mike's hand. "She's after Sam Winchester!"

"Why?" Mike demanded, lifting the demon off its stolen feet and pinning it against the wall. "What would Lilith want with Sam?"

"Named by Azazel," he gasped, hanging on to Mike's wrists. "He's not a threat, it's just PR."

Mike ground his teeth together. "Ralph, that's not good enough, is it? Please tell me it's not."

"Nope." Ralph's hands joined his holding the demon to the wall. "We need her plans, or you're taking the route less traveled. Trust me, by the time we send you to Hell, you'll be glad to arrive."

Mike chuckled darkly. "Been a long time, Ralph. Sure you remember what to do?"

Ralph snorted. "I still have nightmares about last time, Mike. It doesn't mean I'm not ready to do it again."

The demon put both hands up. "She's in California, trying to figure out Azazel's master plan. Lilith needs to kill Sam Winchester to show she's officially in charge, since he was named to take over the legion. That's all I know, I swear!" He covered his face with his hands.

"Work for you?" Ralph asked, all hostility dropping from his face and voice.

"Yeah, I guess. But are we going to leave him here to report back?" Mike asked, curious.

Ralph's head tilted to one side, studying him curiously. "Of course. What better way to draw her out?"

Mike grinned at Ralph. "Dude, you're so good."

Ralph released the possessed man, who raced off into the night. "I must admit, I don't know if I can acclimate to being called 'dude.'"

"Sorry, Ralph," Mike said slowly, hating the thought of alienating his friend. "I'll try to watch it."

Ralph shrugged as the demon faded into the darkness. One hand grasped Mike's shoulder tightly. "If not, don't worry about it. We've survived worse than 'dude.'"

Mike wrapped a firm hand around Ralph's shoulder. "Do you have this kind of fun often? If so, maybe I need to tag along more."

"You scared me, Mike," Ralph said slowly. "Promise me you'll never scare me like that again, and I promise to take you along on all my hunts."

Mike shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."

Ralph released him with a shove. "Whatever? When did you turn into such a...a...."

"Jerk?" Mike grinned. "About the same time you turned into a -"

"Say it and no more meteor showers. I mean it, Mike," Ralph warned. "I'm not Sam Winchester."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Well, duh. If I wanted to hang out with him, would I be here?" He grimaced after the words hit the air. Well, no taking back this chick-flick moment, was there?

Ralph's shoulders and face relaxed as a small smile spread. "So you're saying you want to tag along?"

Mike shrugged again. "Can I help it if we make an awesome team?"

He felt a commanding tug. Eyes wide, Mike turned to Ralph. "Tell me you felt that."

Ralph nodded slowly. "Are we in trouble, Mike? I mean, we didn't really break any rules, did we?"

Mike took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. "Well, I guess we're about to find out. Let's rock."

Ralph groaned. "Is the vernacular really necessary?"

Mike glared at his best friend. "Yes. Now shut up and follow me."

* * *

Dean led the way down the street toward the hospital. From the police description, it sounded like they had Creepy Dude locked up in the mental ward. They were walking past a pool hall when Dean stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Dean?" Sam peered around suspiciously. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure," Dean replied slowly. "But I think we need to go inside." He felt a pressure to go in, more of a request than a command, one he could ignore. For some reason, Dean did not want to ignore it. As he entered the place, which was surprisingly well lit for a pool hall, he discovered he wanted to answer this call.

Dean allowed the feeling to guide him to a table in the center of the pool hall with Sam to his right and Hillary on his left. He paused before the table, which was set for a game. Mike and Ralph stood on the other side of the table with a man between them. The man looked like a young version of Dad, about Dean's age or maybe a couple of years younger, with Dad's messy hair and two day stubble. His eye color changed as Dean watched, flowing smoothly from a deep, rich brown to blue to green and back. When he smiled, Dean felt instantly at ease. The man motioned to the table.

Dean smiled back. "Who breaks?" he asked as turned to look over the selection of pool cues.

"Dean!" Sam hissed under his breath. "What's going on?"

"I'm playing pool, Sam," he replied, testing the balance of one of the cues. "What's it look like?"

"Who is that?" Sam demanded, crowding just a little too close.

Dean shrugged his brother off. "Dude, personal space." He jerked his head at Mike and Ralph. "Do you honestly think they'd be here if this was a demon? Besides, he doesn't look like a demon, so relax."

"Relax," Sam huffed, moving out of the way. "Yeah, right."

Hillary had planted her big body between him and the table when Dean turned around. Dean ran a hand over his dog's head. "Go sit by Sam, Hill. Everything is fine."

Her whine was loud, high pitched and displeased, but she sat next to Sam. Dean shrugged apologetically at the guy and the archangels.

"Whenever you're ready," he said. "Is this about the verdict from the trial?"

The young guy shook his head and waved for Dean to break. Dean nodded, lining up his shot. Two balls, both striped, went in. One of his better breaks. Dean grinned at his competition. "Were you planning on playing this game?"

The young guy grinned back, his eyes bright green and sparkling with amusement. He motioned for Dean to shoot again. Dean lined up another shot, sinking it easily.

"The council has made a decision, right?" he asked as he sunk another ball.

"Yes," Mike answered. "The trial is over. Both sides have been well represented."

Dean glanced up with a frown. "So what's the verdict? What happens to Sam?"

Mike and Ralph exchanged confused expressions. "Nothing," Mike replied with a shrug. "The trial is over. The opposing sides each argued their case. Nothing else happens. We have no domain over human will."

"Now they tell me," he mumbled, eying the table. "Couldn't mention that earlier, huh?" Dean was ready to gripe more, but a peaceful feeling enveloped him and he couldn't be upset with the archangels, even if it was warranted.

Relieved, Dean was able to focus completely on the game. Ball after ball dropped in smoothly, his hustling shots lacking the hustle and showing the skill. Once the table was clear of striped balls, Dean stood to the side.

"How about I rack and you break?" he asked.

The guy smiled again and nodded. Dean retrieved the balls and racked them up. He stood off to one side to watch the guy break. He received a brilliant smile before the cue ball cracked against the others, sending them knocking all over the table. Again, the guy was solids, but this time he had a chance. With stroke after stroke, the guy sunk every solid ball on the table. When the table was clear of solids, he looked Dean in the eye and grinned. Dean saw bright sunshine and heard Led Zepplin in that smile. He grinned back.

"Another round?" Dean asked. The guy racked the balls before motioning for Dean to break. This time, the game was far more challenging. It was a good break, but after sinking three balls he just flat out did not have a shot, so he did his best to make sure his opponent didn't either. Now it was the guy's turn.

The guy studied the table intently, scratching his jaw the same way Dad used to. Dean couldn't help but smile at the familiar gestures, feeling more at home around him the longer they played.

"Dean!" Sam hissed. Dean stepped back to see what his little brother wanted. "Doesn't this seem...weird?"

Dean shrugged, watching intently as the guy lined up another shot. It went in perfectly. He had some awesome pool skills. Unfortunately the cue ball fell in on the next shot. Well, it was unfortunate for him, not for Dean. With a cocky grin, Dean fished the white ball out. He walked around the table, picking a fresh shot. The best one he could find was tricky, but what was life without some challenge? Dean set the cue ball down and lined up his shot. With a swift thrust, Dean sent the cue ball ricocheting off one ball which banked off the side and careened into his target. The ball rolled toward the pocket, teetering on the edge precariously before falling in.

Dean let out the breath he had been holding. Great. Now all he had to do was find another shot. Easier said than done. As he studied the table, he wondered why they were even here if it wasn't about Sam and the trial.

"I take it Mike and Ralph are friends of yours?" Dean asked as he mentally made several shots. He picked the likeliest and moved around the table. Suddenly he realized the guy hadn't spoken yet. "Right?" he asked as he made sure to look at the guy.

The guy smiled his warm smile and nodded, and Dean noticed his smile was similar to Sam's. Dean nodded back, eying his shot. "They're good guys," he admitted. He pulled back his arm and sent the cue ball flying. Close, but no cigar.

Dean stood aside to let the guy take his shot. "So what are we doing here?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

The guy looked up from his shot and winked at Mike. His attention returned to the table and his shot, which fell in with a sharp noise. He grinned at the shot, moving around to line up another. As he studied the table, the guy nodded to Mike.

Mike shuffled his feet, looking down, then at the ceiling, the table, his feet, anywhere but at Dean. Ralph gave Mike a disgusted look before stepping forward. "We're here to thank you."

Dean glanced around pool hall. It was empty expect for them. Odd. Hadn't there been other people when they came in? It was strange that he couldn't remember.

"Thank him for what?" Sam demanded over Dean's shoulder. Dean resisted groaning at Sam's overprotectiveness.

"For Mike," Ralph said. He reached back to pull Mike forward a step. "He had been growing cold and distant, dissociating himself from the humans we protect."

"Really, Mike?" Dean asked, surprised and still curious.

The guy tapped his cue on the edge of the table. He didn't have a shot, so it was Dean's turn. It looked like he had taken great care to make certain Dean didn't have a good shot either. Dean walked all around the table trying to find something better than the guaranteed miss he'd already spotted.

"C'mon, Mike. You couldn't have been that bad," Dean said, squatting down to eyeball a potential shot.

"Please, Dean," Sam snapped. "No offense, Mike, but we did know you before. Dean, you know he was that bad."

Dean chewed his lower lip before shrugging and resting his cue on his left hand. Deft hands, skilled from thousands of hours spent in places like this, sent the balls ricocheting across the table. No balls went in, but he managed to screw up any plans the other guy might have had. Pleased, Dean stood aside.

"What are you, their boss?" he asked, making sure to watch for an answer.

The guy nodded, his brow furrowing as he studied the table. Yep, Dean silently congratulated himself on screwing up the guy's plans. Then the guy's face smoothed and he took a shot, which slammed perfectly into a corner pocket.

This guy was really good.

"Nice," he admitted with a certain amount of awe. "I have a feeling I can sit down, huh?"

The guy smiled and winked, and Dean could hear the Zepplin music again. He grinned as he watched a master of the game, a man who was truly an artist, clear the table of his balls.

"Really nice," Dean said with a nod as he held out his hand.

The guy tossed his cue on the table, his head tilting to one side.

"How's your back?" Mike asked.

"Oh, uh, not bad," Dean said, hand dropping to his side. "Ralph just took out the bone splinter yesterday, so I can't say for sure, but so far it's awesome by comparison."

Mike glanced at the guy before his gaze fell on Dean again. "That's as much repair as we're allowed to do," he told Dean. "We'd like to heal your back completely, but this way you shouldn't experience the phantom pains, or spasms, or whatever it was. Besides, he's afraid if you feel too good you'll start pulling risky crap again when you're hunting."

"Hey!" Dean snapped. "What risky crap?" he demanded.

Three sets of eyes bored into him, Sam's, Mike's and the guy's.

"Dean!" Sam hissed, eyes wide and his head nodding at the guy.

Dean rolled his eyes, resting his cue against the table. "Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, still grating from being told he used to take too many risks. He heard enough of that crap from Sam.

Then the guy walked up to him, right into his personal space. They were so close Dean could smell earthy soil mixed with the heavy fragrances of roses and wild flowers, so he was either a gardener or wearing some weird cologne. At first it shocked Dean to have some strange guy standing so close, but the closer he was the more Dean felt it was okay. Then the guy did something really weird, weirder than his cologne. He took Dean's face in his hands, which were covered with rough calluses from hard work but moved so gently that the rough spots flowed like silk over his skin. The guy tilted Dean's head down and kissed his forehead. Kissed him!

With another blinding smile, the guy stepped back. He was enveloped in white light, too bright to look at. Dean flung his arms up in defense. He could feel the white light flooding the pool hall, spilling out into the street. When it faded, he lowered his arms slowly. Mike and Ralph still stood with Sam, Hillary between him and the archangels, as usual. The guy was gone and there were other people in the pool hall drinking, talking, shooting pool.

Feeling distinctly unsettled, Dean looked to Mike for an answer. Mike shook his head. "We're hunting demons," he said. "Let me know if you need any help with that cult." With a wave, both angels disappeared.

"Sam?" Dean asked. His brother turned him toward the exit, an arm slung over his shoulders. "What was that?"

"That?" Sam said in a low voice as they made their way through the pool hall. "That was, without a doubt, the most awesome thing that ever happened. Ever. In the history of the world."

Dean glanced at his little brother. "Euphoria?" he asked.

Sam shook his head with a wide grin. "Dude, remember when you told me that cult thinks you were blessed by an archangel and that's why they took you?"

Dean nodded slowly.

"Well, they're really going to want you now." Sam's arm around his shoulders squeezed tight. "Totally awesome."

Dean stopped in the sidewalk outside to stare at his brother. "No way. You're not serious. That wasn't... It couldn't have been... No way. Not for me!"

"Why not for you, Dean?" Sam demanded. "After the way you took Mike down a peg and humanized a freaking uppity archangel, well two of them, really. He came personally to say thank you, and play you at pool. Dean, I knew you were good, but I never thought you were that good."

"What? Why not?" he asked defensively.

"Dude, you can't beat the laws of physics, so you certainly can't beat the creator of the laws of physics," Sam replied with the stupid grin on his face. "But it was awesome."

Stunned, Dean could only let Sam guide him down the street. When he passed a storefront with a large window, he managed to catch his reflection in it. Dean thought he still looked the same. Probably. He hoped.

Wow. Maybe... Maybe he was doing a decent job. With a long look at his cured baby brother and the happy dog at their side, Dean came to a startling realization. Maybe he had earned this.

**The End.**

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**A/N:** I do realize I've left a few plot lines hanging, such as what happens with the creepy cult. I may address that in a sequel, I haven't decided for sure yet. But it lends itself to a full story, not just a couple of chapters and I think this sucker is long enough. I'd like to get back to another fic I've left hanging incomplete for a while (Life With Dean) and maybe decide where it's going.

Once again I'd like to thank everyone who has been following this monster of a fic and stuck it out with me over the past year/year and a half. Also through this fic I've had the privilege of meeting and working with the most awesome editor and theological advisor – c**haris-kalos**!! There is a book of essays based on Supernatural coming out called "In The Hunt", and she has a piece included so please keep an eye out for it, it should be for sale soon.


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